


Trialculosis Sam

by AlexLKerr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angsty Schmoop, Big Brother Dean, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dehydration, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Fever, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hallucifer, Hallucinations, Hugs, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Major Character Injury, Men of Letters Headquarters, Mute Sam Winchester, Muteness, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Paralysis, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Schmoop, Season/Series 08, Seizures, Sibling Love, Sick Sam Winchester, Torture, anemia, suffocation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 110,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexLKerr/pseuds/AlexLKerr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The long, dragged-out, emotional, let's-nearly-kill-'im version of Sam dealing with the trials. Setting Season 8. Post S8E20, right after Dean says, "Want me to do the whole, uh, airplane thing with the spoon?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six more chapters have already been written & posted of this fic. I swear I'll get around to posting them all here on AO3 but if you want to keep reading just visit me (Alex L. Kerr) on fanfiction.net & click on Trialculosis Sam! Thank you so much!

"Want me to do the whole, uh, airplane thing with the spoon?" Dean asked lightly, waiting for some sort of a response from Sam.

Nothing.

Dean threw the spoon down, annoyed.

"When was the last time you ate?" he challenged. Sam frowned and shook his head with apathy.

"I don't-"

"Days, Sam, s'been three days."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean wasn't making his point.

He glanced up at his brother in time to see him pull a thermometer out of his pocket. Sam huffed with skepticism.

"When'd you get that?"

"When you started throwin' off heat waves," Dean bit back. He shook it a couple times and leaned in towards Sam, extending the thing out. Sam reacted, backing the chair out and dropping the stupid blanket Dean had thrown on him from before.

"Enough!" Sam murmured, stumbling over as he rose to his feet, "Dean, please..." he finished, too fatigued to be genuinely pissed, but too well to take Dean's ministrations. Dean withdrew the thermometer and pursed his lips.

"The bloody handkerchief, the fever, the shaky legs. This is not good," Dean waved at Sam.

"Well  _I'm_  not good... and I'm not  _going_  to be good until we can start moving again. Until I can start the third trial-"

" _Trial_? I wouldn't let you start a  _mo-ped_ ," Dean shot back, throwing the thermometer on the table. "We're on the rails with this thing, okay? And the only way out of it, is through it. Believe me, I know. And you know how badly I want to slam the door on all those sons of bitches," Dean lectured, then softened, "...but you gotta let me take care of you, man. You gotta let me help you get your strength back."

Sam sighed, exhausted.

"This isn't a cold. Or a fever or whatever it is you're s'posed to feed. This is part of it  _all_. Those first two trials... they're not just things I did - they're doing something  _to_  me. They're changing me, Dean."

Dean let Sam's words hang in silence. He had too many things to say and he couldn't streamline them. Finally, he nodded and broke his gaze to stare at the plate on the table. He picked up the spoon and threw it onto the tray.

"Y'gonna eat?" he murmured, staring at the stew. He heard Sam sigh again.

"M'not hungry," Sam replied, sorely sitting back down into his chair.

"Okay," Dean said softly, pulling the tray away from Sam and heading back to the kitchen with it.

...

Sam blinked the water out of his eyes and sniffed as he hovered over the papers spread out on the table. His vision was blurring. Still cogent, he wondered if this was what it felt like to be dyslexic. The letters jumped and shifted in front of him - words seemed to float and shake.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You tired?" Dean undertoned, startling Sam. Sam looked up to see his brother next to him, leaning against the table.

"-Jesus..." Sam breathed.

"Sorry," Dean murmured, moving over the table to pile the papers together.

"No - Dean! What're you doing? They're organized," Sam jumped forward in his chair, trying to get Dean to stop what he was doing. At his brother's touch, Dean stopped and turned to scrutinize him.

"You know what time it is?" Dean asked, crouching down so Sam could look down at him. Sam blinked and, keeping his clouded gaze on Dean, shook his head and shrugged. Dean raised his wrist to show him his watch, eyes expectant.

"Nearly one in the morning. We'll pick this up later, Sam. C'mon," Dean said casually, standing up. He made no move to help Sam up, for which Sam was thankful, and started tidying the papers again.

Sam gave a long sigh and rubbed his eyes. He was slightly disturbed that he didn't have the strength to stop Dean from moving the papers on the table again. He was too out of it.

"Okay," he whispered, setting his palm on the table for balance as he moved to stand up. He felt the chair move out from behind him as he stood.

"Dean, don't-" Sam said, irritated even just by that one small gesture. Dean ignored it as he came around to face him.

"Are you okay to walk?" Dean asked seriously, his hands at his side, not clasped in anger, but rather ready to reach out. Sam winced with distaste.

"Yes, I'm fucking okay to  _walk,_ " Sam rasped harshly, pushing off from the table and shoving against Dean's shoulder as he moved past him.

Fuming, Sam managed straight steps to the end of the table. It dawned upon him then that the steam he was moving under - his anger, his frustration - was overwhelming. He felt overheated and light-headed. The floor had started to spin at some point but Sam could still see the step down he needed to take before he could enter into the hallway where they'd set up their bedrooms.

He grimaced and swallowed, trying to keep himself upright and steady, trying to keep his nausea at bay, as he took the steep step down.

The step wasn't steep though. His depth perception was shot to hell. Sam gasped as the ground shot up and twisted like a kaleidoscope as his foot landed. His knee buckled and the floor spun closer. His reaction time off, he tried to brace himself by raising his hands up in front of him.

Instead of the floor, he felt a sudden harsh constriction around his chest, a hand clamping tightly and painfully along his side, and a sharp tug that forced his body to tumble left. Sam landed on his left side, his head hitting Dean's chest as Dean took the full brunt of Sam's weight in the fall.

"God damn it," Dean wheezed, eyes tearing from the impact.

"Dean-" Sam gasped, still lying on his brother. His breathing had gone fast and shallow; he was so dizzy and weak that he couldn't lift himself up. "I.. can't.." Sam gasped.

Sam moved his hand up, vaguely searching for the floor.

"Sam, Sam what is it?"

Sam felt Dean's hand on the back of his head and his whole world tipped upside down as Dean started to roll him off of him. Sam knew Dean was never anything but gentle with him, but the fever and his vision caused the movement to feel rough and way too intense.

"Hey-hey-hey, Sam?"

Sam grimaced and made an effort to open his eyes as Dean laid him down on his back on the floor. The vaulted ceilings were huge and brilliantly lit - they started to swirl above him and Sam closed his eyes with a miserable sob.

"Over," he heard Dean's order and felt his brother push him onto his side. He went with it and felt Dean's hand push on his stomach then chest.

"No..." Sam gasped, hating the gesture, feeling like it was too much touching - too much sensation for him to handle. He was going to be sick.

"C'mon Sam, it's okay..." he heard his brother murmur. Sam's eyes were tearing up as he shook his head.

"I'm... gonna... be sick..."

"No you're not - you haven't eaten anything for the past three days," Dean replied quickly from behind him, the meaning of his words flashing fast enough for Sam to understand. "Just pull through it. Breathe."

Sam felt Dean's other hand brace his forehead. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, swallowed, and gave a trembling nod. He felt sweat trickling down his face and knew that Dean must be feeling the temperature spike.

" _Fuck_ , Sam," he heard Dean whisper. Sam held his breath for a moment as he cringed, trying to suppress tears. He was always Dean's burden. He'd tried so hard not to let this happen...

"I'm sorry," he rasped between hyperventilating breathes. "I... didn't..."

Dean wiped Sam's hair back from his face.

"Sam, stop," Dean murmured, "Are you shaking because you're cold?"  _or just upset_?

"I... don't know," Sam replied haltingly. He felt a pressure on his side as Dean leaned over him. A second later he felt a blanket draped over him.

"Okay, just relax, the floor's comfortable, right?" Dean joked, though his tone was anything but humorous. Sam remained still and focused on nothing. Dean stayed silent.

"Okay... you still feel sick?" Dean finally asked quietly.

Sam blinked at the polished hardwood.

"Floor's not moving anymore."

"Okay that's as good as I'm gonna get," Dean murmured more to himself than Sam, and started to roll his brother onto his back on the floor. Dean hovered over him, appraising him, worried.

Sam could only look up at his brother as Dean repositioned the blanket onto his chest. He closed his eyes as his headache worsened and clasped a hand over his eyes.

"This sucks," Sam whispered.

"Yeah," Dean replied softly, "Open your mouth." Sam brushed his hand off his face and opened his eyes to slits to see Dean ticking the thermometer back and forth in front of him. Sam sighed and pleaded one last time with his eyes. Dean tilted his head. "Dude, c'mon,"  _you know better_.

Dean leaned in and lifted Sam's head up.

Sam acquiesced and took the thermometer under his tongue. Dean pushed Sam's sweat-slicked hair back and pressed his fingers against Sam's neck to check his pulse.

"Your pulse is too fast," Dean whispered as he started to get up.

"I coulda told 'oo that," Sam grumbled, the thermometer hindering his pronunciation. He watched Dean leave his line of sight.

"Stay lying down. Don't try getting up yet," Dean ordered. Sam was still out of it, but he detected the regret in his brother's voice. He felt Dean's footsteps become more distant. The echoes in the room made Dean seem like he was on the other side of a tunnel... and then the movement and sound just disappeared. Dean had vanished to some other part of the house, leaving Sam down on the floor.

Finally alone, Sam could despair.

"Fuck," Sam whispered, cringing with pain. He pulled the thermometer out of his mouth and squinted to see what it said: 103.4.  _Great radio station_ , he thought idly as he clamped down against an inward sob.

The floor vibrated minutely beneath him. The sounds of footsteps approaching signaled Dean's return. Sam reached out to palm the floor, about to try to lift himself up to a sitting position.

"Hey no,  _stay down_ ," Dean ordered loudly. Sam grimaced but automatically did as he was told. "How you feeling?"

"Like shit."

"Symptoms? - You took the thermometer out," Dean added, annoyed.

"Said 103.4."

"Okay," Dean replied, pulling Sam's wrist and setting it onto his knee.

"Wh-what're you doing?" Sam asked groggily.

"You wouldn't," Dean said calmly as he tied a band around Sam's forearm, "let me play big brother, " Dean uncapped a needle, "so," he settled it over a vein, "now I'm playing doctor," he trailed off slowly, his tone thoroughly miserable, as he carefully directed the needle into Sam's skin. Sam bit his lip and made an effort to stay still. Once in the vein, Dean glanced at Sam as he pressed cotton balls lightly around the puncture. He twisted around and grabbed a strip of tape he'd had ready and taped the IV down.

"S'just for a couple of hours," Dean murmured.

"What 'sit?"

Dean gave a small shrug as he lifted the bag, then an eyebrow.

"Can you read it?"

Sam squinted.

"Saline."

Dean nodded approvingly.

"Good job. Where you want to sleep tonight?"

Sam groaned.

"Here's good."

Sam twitched a smile when he heard Dean chuckle. Sam started to turn over, thinking Dean's question about where to sleep was a tacit message to try to get up, and placed his free hand against the floor again for leverage.

"Hey hey hold on," Dean pushed Sam back down again. Still weak, Sam fell back with a huff. "We're in no rush. Let the drip do something before we get up, all right?"

Sam lazily turned to look directly at Dean. His eyes were half-lidded, but he was still relatively aware. They remained silent together, Sam lying down and Dean sitting in a hunched position next to him. Dean preferred the lack of conversation - made it easier to monitor Sam's breathing. He checked the solution every once in awhile.

"The ceilings are too high," Sam murmured, his gaze on Dean. Dean turned, his brow furrowed with confusion, and he tilted his head.

"What?"

"They're- The ceilings," Sam vaguely pointed up, "They're vaulted. Too high. Made me..." Sam swallowed, accidentally revisiting the sense of nausea from staring up at the cavernous library before.

Sam felt Dean's warm, dry hand clasp his and set it back down on his chest.

"All right. Just don't look up, then. Focus on me, okay?"

Sam winced, swallowed, and nodded as he blinked up at Dean.

"Ugly," Sam smiled.

"What?"

"Your ugly face."

"Yeah Sam, my ugly face. Just relax, man," Dean replied absently, sighing as he looked around the library.

"...Dean?" Sam's voice was small, tentative. Dean looked back down at Sam, concerned.

"What?"

"I can do the third trial."

Sam watched Dean's eyes light with anger. He turned away so Sam couldn't see his face. Sam could still see Dean's head shake then look down at the floor though.

"I promise," Sam begged, "Dean-?"

Sam felt a tear fall down his cheek.

Dean turned back finally. Sam was surprised to see compassion in his brother's gaze.

"I know, Sammy," Dean tried to smile, "I know you can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time!


	2. Blood Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so now this story is up to 13 chapters on ff.net! Just find my bio page as Alex L. Kerr to find it. :)

Sam woke up on his stomach, his breathing labored, and just as he registered a hand roughly rubbing his back, he broke into wracking coughs. The first cough plowed through the relative silence and suddenly noise was everywhere - a chair screeched roughly along the floor next to the bed and Sam heard the bed sheets rustling as the bed depressed next to him.

"Okay, okay-"

"Dean-" Sam gasped as he propped himself up by his elbows, starting to gag. He found he was too weak to lift up any higher. A wave of heat engulfed his body as it strained and shook under his coughs.

"It's okay, Sam, just hold on a second-"

Sam felt Dean grasp him around the chest and shove him further over to the opposite side of the bed. Sam grunted and coughed harder but Dean didn't let go.

"All right.. and..  _Up_!" Dean said. Sam felt another sudden rush of movement as Dean bodily lifted him up and rolled him back over, this time against Dean's chest as he sat against the headboard. Sam was coughing so hard now that he almost ripped out of Dean's hold as he doubled over.

"Good-good-good - lean forward just like that," Dean coached. A small chrome-metal bowl appeared in front of Sam as he hacked up blood. Sam grabbed the bowl with both hands and Dean wrapped an arm against Sam's chest to brace him.

"I feel - I can't... breathe..." Sam gasped, coughing and spitting blood into the bowl after every word. He felt Dean's other arm release and his palm started jamming against Sam's back at every coughed exhale.

"Dean- Don't..." Sam pleaded, trying to get Dean to stop.

"If you can cough, you can breathe, Sammy, c'mon," Dean replied evenly, unwilling to stop his bracing shoves against Sam's back. Sam would be bruised afterwards, Dean acknowledge regrettably. Sam felt tears welling up as he gagged and watched the blood expel in splatters against the bowl.

"Shit," Sam rasped between gags and gasps, unsure if his heart was beating so fast from the coughing or the fear of having thrown up so much blood.

The attack started to taper off and Sam was left leaning forward, heaving over the puddle of pure red blood inside the bowl. Dean let Sam be for few seconds, turning the hits against his back into gentle rubs.

"Okay, you done?" Dean whispered, already reaching to take the bowl from Sam's trembling hands. Sam nodded shakily, spitting into it one last time before allowing Dean to set the thing on the nightstand.

He felt Dean behind him strain to reach something. He heard water dripping & a moment later a lukewarm washcloth pressed up against his mouth.

"Mm, I go' it" Sam murmured, weakly reaching up and grabbing the cloth from Dean's hand. "Okay," Dean said softly, letting go once Sam had a decent hold on it. Sam shakily washed his mouth and chin free of blood. The cloth felt good and Sam flipped it over to wipe the rest of his face. Sweat and tear tracks disappeared under the soft terrycloth.

"Sam?" Dean's voice sounded alarmed.

"Yeah?"

Dean got up from the bed and turned around to stare at his brother with wide eyes. Sam noticed he was holding the bowl. Dean set it back down again on the table quickly and moved forward.

"Listen, don't argue with me right now, okay?" He said sharply as he stuffed two pillows up against the headboard of the bed behind Sam.

"Wha- Dean-!" Sam voice scratched out in surprise as Dean grabbed him under the arms and boosted him up against the pillows. Just as Sam's head was about to hit the wall, Dean's hand shot out and bent his neck down.

"Uh..." Sam groaned, suddenly light-headed. Blankets fell over him and pushed up against his chest.

"Sam, listen to me closely," Dean's eyes were directly in front of him now, and Sam's expression couldn't have communicated a dazed  _what the fuck, Dean_  any better. Dean's mouth pulled into a straight line.

" _Sam!_ " He yelled harshly, and Sam jerked in response, his pinched face the picture of annoyance when Dean snapped sharply within an inch of his eyes.

" _What_?!" Sam rasped back, pissed.

"You've lost too much blood. You pass out on me, I'm calling an ambulance, do you understand me?"

"Whattaya gonna do?" Sam slurred, unable to control his language but still aware.

"You seriously need to eat something. I'll be right back. Do not pass out on me, do you understand? Hey.  _Hey!_ " Dean snapped against Sam's ear and Sam jerked back up, eyes widening.

"Yeah, Dean, Jesus Christ..."

And then Dean was gone.

It took a few seconds for Sam to register that Dean had left. His vision was starting to come in jerky flashes. His sight wandered the room. It felt like super-speed, his senses heightened, his mind registering every little trinket and oddity inside, zeroing in and studying its texture and shape with intensity. His breath started to pick up as he saw the knives on the shelf, Dean's vinyls against the wall.

All he wanted to do was close his eyes but something tugged at him to stay awake.

"Mmm," he hummed, trying to get his voice to anchor him, "I'm 'n D'n's room," he said out loud, his voice low and gravelly. He blinked and the single moment of darkness felt great, but he had to keep them open. He had to keep them open for... something. Sam's eyes rolled as a fresh wave of nausea blew through him and he accidentally caught sight of the vaulted ceilings again.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasped, averting his gaze in order to stave off watching the kaleidoscope start to turn and twist above. He found himself staring at the bedside table. The bowl was gone - Dean had taken it out with him - leaving the picture of their mother leaning against the lamp.

Sam felt sweat trickle down his face as he listened to the room's silence. She was smiling. His breathing started to steady. Her eyes were kind and calm, matching the delicate smile perfectly.

"Hey, Mom," Sam whispered, staring at the photo.

Her expression was simple happiness. Sam squinted and focused on that.

"You nev'r coulda known," Sam whispered wistfully. He blinked back tears and sniffed, staring at his mother's visage. "Dean's okay!" he added suddenly, his voice strained yet pitched, having salvaged something good to tell her.

Sam studied his mother's unchanging expression, searching for something. He blinked lazily, eyelids starting to feel too heavy to hold up.

"You're beautiful," Sam slurred quietly. "I... wish..." Sam trailed off, about to fall asleep, when he heard a whispered, "me too, Sammy," next to him on the other side of the bed. Sam flinched at the sound and opened his eyes to see Dean sitting down at his bedside.

"De-"

Sam felt his brother's palm on his cheek, the back of his neck, and angled his face up. Green eyes stared into his and Sam was utterly confused when they crinkled into a kind smile.

"I wasn't kidding about the airplane spoon, y'know," he said, his smile turning into a grin.

Sam snorted, exhausted and unable to drum up any kind of resentment. Sam sighed, defeated and all too aware that he was at Dean's mercy now. He pinned his brother with wide, sad eyes.

"Please don't feed me," Sam asked bluntly, tiredly. Dean laughed.

"Ahh," Dean drawled, acting disappointed about giving in to Sam's request, "Okay." He leaned back and reached out to grab the protein shake he'd mixed. "Here, can you hold it?" He asked, guiding Sam's hands over the glass.

"S'cold," Sam murmured.

"You always liked it better that way."

"I do," Sam replied quietly, grasping the glass tightly. His hands still shook and Dean held one hand over both of Sam's as he opened a straw and stuck it into the glass.

"Drink up. Seriously as fast as you can, dude," Dean added sincerely, still keeping his hand over Sam's as he shot the straw wrapper into the garbage nearby. He turned back to look at Sam, who nodded to Dean as he inhaled the shake.

"G'job," Dean murmured, watching.

Sam kept his eyes on Dean.

Dean winked.

When the shake was halfway done, Sam lifted his lips from the straw, breathing somewhat heavily from the gulps he'd been taking.

"You... have Mom's eyes."

Dean lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"Thanks, bud," he replied lightly, "Finish the shake."

Sam nodded and lifted a weak hand to nudge the straw to his mouth again.

...

Sam was sleeping. Not well, but...

Dean washed a hand across his face as he stepped out of his room and into the corridor. He took a left towards the library, but that wasn't his destination. He stopped at the threshold of Sam's room. Yes, it was closer to the library and thus would've been an easier move. It'd been a split-second judgment, though. He wanted Sam in his room.

Dean opened the door to Sam's room to check if there was anything Sam might want. He idly realized that he always kept his door open whereas Sam kept his closed.

The door fell open silently and Dean's heart sank as he surveyed the surroundings. It looked more like a barrack than a room. There were two beds, both well-made, in the center of the floor. Sam's duffel rested on his desk. Dirty clothes in the laundry basket. Nothing more.

Dean swept the room with his eyes again, searching for something, anything besides Sam's clothes, to identify that his little brother occupied the space.

Finding nothing and at a loss, Dean stepped inside and walked in between the two beds. He felt the mattresses. They were both rock hard. He felt the pillows: cheap, military-grade, and flat. Nothing hung on the walls. No scattered books on the floor.

"What the hell..." Dean whispered.

Sam had possessions... Didn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time!


	3. Fever

Consciousness was murky at best. Sam was having difficulty thinking about much, continually fixating on the words, 'third trial,' and 'Dean.'

"Dean... y'don'... get it..." Sam murmured, staring at the floor from the side of the bed, vaguely admiring the shine of the chrome bowl that Dean had cleaned at some point while he'd been out.

"S'okay... S'gonna be okay..." Sam murmured, his thoughts whirring around in a circle, seeming to get faster and faster.  _Dean. The third trial. My job. Can do it. This is nothing. Get up. Need to stop fucking around. Kevin. Kevin. Find Kevin. Dean, it's okay. Go find Kevin. The third trial. I can do it. My job..._

Around and around until Sam landed on a fully thought-out sentence.  _I don't care if I die. Need to find Kevin before I die so I can finish the third trial._

Sam's legs had been moving, his breath coming in shallow, but when he got to this thought, he felt the need to move, roll over,  _do something_. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling water press out from under his lids. Disoriented in the darkness, he rolled forward, felt a knock against his head - Dean's nightstand - and crumpled over the bedside.

Sam didn't feel himself falling. Just felt the jolt of landing onto the floor. A muffled grunt and Sam weakly pulled the bowl out from under him, then sagged down to feel the cold surface of the floor. Breathing heavily, he let himself lie there until his already overheated body triggered a short-lived frustration with the blankets that he'd brought with him during the fall.

Sam struggled to kick the blankets off, panting with exertion by the end of it, but still hot and overheated. Without any consideration, he pulled off his track pants and kicked them down further below him towards the foot of the bed where the blankets were pooled. A second later, he'd pulled off his shirt - a more complicated process - and bunched it up as a makeshift pillow before he fell back onto the floor.

It was cool there, the surface smooth and clean. After a few short minutes, the sweat covering Sam's body started to evaporate off and Sam, too busy trying to get his breathing back to normal, vaguely registered a chill run through him. And then another.

Sam brought his knees up to his chest as he rested on the floor to warm up, having forgotten the covers near the foot of the bed. Shivers ran through his spine as Sam stared out at nothing, the light of the room dimly reflecting off surfaces that felt comfortable and familiar. Nevertheless, he started feeling like he was in a freezer.

Sam's body trembled to a greater degree this time, jerking him awake and back to a higher level of consciousness.

" _Shit_ ," Sam whispered, realizing his fever had taken over at some point. He was able to pick up on the fact that lying half-naked on the floor next to a bed was not normal or healthy. Now frigid, Sam reached up behind him to orient himself - the bed was right there. Sam only had to roll over and push himself back up onto it.

He turned over onto his back and lifted his head up. Immediately his surroundings started spinning. His hair was wet and cold, clinging against his neck and face. He managed to spot the bed, widening and squinting his eyes to see it clearly. It wavered above him as he reached out from his prone position, laying a shaky palm against the side of the mattress to confirm it was real. He felt a vague sense of urgency pull at him: he should get back up on the bed before his brother finds him. Sam didn't want Dean worrying any more than he already was.

With strength pulled from that thought, Sam gripped the edge of the bed tightly and used all his strength to pull his torso up and level to the mattress. He groaned as the world tipped again and he swore. He couldn't tell whether his body was swaying or if it was the fever mangling his sense of balance. The room was suddenly too bright, illuminating too many things, and he closed his eyes. He let his head fall onto the mattress, taking a breather. He knew he had to lift himself back up onto the bed eventually, but he couldn't concentrate - had to pull himself together again before pushing up with his legs to fall over and onto the damn mattress.

No longer cold, his entire body still shook under the stress. Nausea hit him fast and sharp and Sam swallowed instinctively, squeezing his eyes tighter and pulling his arms to cover his head more fully as he breathed into the mattress. It still felt like he was at sea in a storm, the floor waving and lifting up and down - Sam's sense of understanding slowly slipping again, giving into the fever and forgetting why he was perched against the side of the bed to begin with...

"Sam-? Sam?" A voice pierced through the drumming in Sam's ears. "What're you doing on the floo-" The voice came closer and Sam breathed heavily, his back arching, trying to calm himself down enough to handle this extra element to his world. Dean.

"Don' ... Don' move me," Sam slurred as he flinched at Dean's hand on his shoulder. He breathed heavily again, trying to hold back on throwing up. He felt the hand leave his shoulder. "De-?" He murmured quietly, certain Dean hadn't actually heard him.

A second later he felt blankets - warm, soft cotton wrap around him. Sam automatically starting shaking under them, starting to generate heat again as he unconsciously registered it'd be conserved now. "Than' you," Sam murmured just as he felt Dean's hands rub his back and shoulders quickly for heat from friction.

"What's goin' on?" Dean asked gently, crouched and hovered behind him.

"'M c-cold..." Sam stammered, still pressed against the mattress with eyes closed. The blankets were helping and Sam's nausea had died down. Another chill shot through Sam and Dean stopped his ministrations for a second. Sam sensed Dean sitting down on the floor right next to him - behind him - and then Dean's arms wrap around him.

"Y'know," Dean said, his casual tone belying his worry as he pulled Sam back lightly off the mattress with his hands. Sam didn't want to at first, but Dean's was bracing him carefully - one hand around his waist, the other across his chest. Sam slid back easily once he let go of the mattress, realizing that Dean had done this to him when he'd been sick as a kid. "-getting on the floor and pulling your clothes off isn't what you're supposed to do when you're cold," Dean finished, settling Sam back against his chest.

"Uh... The... bed," Sam gulped as he angled around in Dean's lap to look at the bed.

"I know, I'll get you there," Dean assured kindly, pulling the spare blankets further over Sam and tightening them. "Get warm first. You're still shaking."

"Am I?" Sam asked, bewildered, lifting his head over to see Dean but failing. His head fell backwards to land on Dean's shoulder instead.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean whispered, leaning his head against Sam's tiredly and repositioning his arms around Sam, keeping him warm.

They stayed on the floor for awhile. Every tremor in Sam's body getting met with Dean pressuring more blankets around him or a better hold on him. Sam gave a deep sigh, starting to feel better, and Dean's hand wiped his wet hair off his face. Dean moved up from his position, tilting over to grab the thermometer from his back pocket.

"I think your fever's breaking. Here," Dean spoke up. Sam opened his eyes wearily to see the thermometer coming at him. "Don't bite it, dude," Dean said as Sam took it under his tongue again.

"Wouldn've bi' i'," Sam retorted groggily. They stayed there for a minute, waiting for the thermometer to work. Sam blinked and lifted a hand to hold the thermometer in place in his mouth as he moved up closer to Dean.

"You almost ready to get back in bed?" Dean asked casually. Sam nodded and felt Dean's hand cover his as he took point and pulled the thermometer out of Sam's mouth. Sam licked his lips.

"101.9," Dean murmured, squinting at the thermometer as he held Sam.

"S'better," Sam whispered, "right?"

"Yeah," Dean trailed off, "All right let's get you up-" Dean said, setting the thermometer down and starting to pull Sam up, blankets and all. Sam stumbled, his legs weak, but realized that Dean was capable of lifting him up without Sam's help - high enough to the point where he just nudged Sam forward so Sam could fall onto the mattress.

He landed in a heap, pulling his legs up and wanting to stay still like that forever. Dean pulled the blankets out from under him and whipped them out again.

"Dean - Kevin..." Sam murmured as he felt the sheets and comforter land on top of him one by one. He rolled over onto his stomach.

"I know, Sam, but we can't do anything yet. Not until you're better," Dean replied, his tone grim.

"'M not gonna get... better..." Sam replied, his voice thick. He felt the bed depress nearby and a hand on his head.

"You're gonna get better, Sammy," Dean said softly, carding his fingers through Sam's hair. Sam's eyes closed and he reached out for Dean and managed to grip his knee. "I gotchya," Dean whispered.

"I like your room," Sam muttered randomly, his voice muffled by the pillow. "S'ry for taking... your bed..."

Dean looked at his exhausted brother and quirked an eyebrow.

"Dude, I  _put_  you here."

Sam sniffed.

"Oh yeah. Thanks."

Dean bit his lip, studying his brother.

"Hey Sam?"

"Mm."

"Why don't you have stuff in your room?"

"Wha' stuff?"

"I don't know,  _stuff_."

Sam sighed heavily.

"-your stuff," he murmured, practically asleep. Dean moved closer.

"What?"

"Always had your stuff," Sam slurred. Sam gave a heavy sigh, moved his hand off Dean's knee, and turned his head on the pillow to get more comfortable.

Dean huffed in consideration, staring at his little brother. It was kind of true - they'd always shared, but Dean had always been the outright owner of most of their things. It dawned on him that he kept his room's door open so often because Sammy would come  _in_  so often. Dean felt a wave of affection towards his little brother. Some things didn't change.

Dean nudged Sam over so he could rest on the bed next to him. He rubbed Sam's back until he was sure the kid was asleep.

One thing was for sure. Dean was going to get Sam some memory foam after all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	4. Numb Part 1

Sam woke up with a jolt, his body shivering him up and aware. His grasp tightened on instinct and only a second later when Dean returned the pressure did he realize he was practically lying on him: his knee bent across Dean's legs, his torso covering Dean's left side, his head against Dean's collarbone and neck. The sense memory was there for them both from years of childhood and growing up. Sleeping with Dean was simply and plainly comfortable... and Dean was always warm.

He felt Dean's hand brace the back of his head. Sam went with it, bending his head down and curling in further, trembling.

"Okay... okay..." Dean whispered, sounding like he was talking to himself more than Sam. His fingers combed through the strands of Sam's damp greasy hair and Sam sighed with appreciation at the same time his body gave a sharp shiver. He felt Dean's other hand reach over to pull the blankets up over them, nearly covering Sam's head. Dean rubbed Sam's back and shoulders. "It's okay," he said softly, trying to lull Sam back to sleep.

` It worked.

...

"Dean?...  _Dean_?"

Dean flinched and blinked his eyes open. He frowned as he looked down at Sam's head in the crook of his arm.

"Mm what?" He asked sleepily, unconsciously hugging Sam to him. He tried to focus, becoming vaguely aware that Sam was raising his hands up into the air above the bedspread, palms facing them. "What're you doing Sam?"

"Dean I.. I can't..." Sam murmured below him, swaying his arms a little bit as he tried to clench his fingers. They barely moved. "I can't feel my... h-hands..." he said just as Dean reached out to pull his brother's right hand from the air and into his grip.

"You can't feel that?" He asked, placing gentle pressure on Sam's fingers and palm. Dean felt Sam shake his head against his shoulder.

"No..." Sam answered wonderingly and Dean moved up on the bed  _fast_ , jostling Sam until his head was settled against the pillow. Dean leaned over to turn on the lamp on the nightstand and both of them squinted when the room lit up a warm yellow. The two of them had been sleeping soundly; their skin was thin and papery, hair disheveled, faces pale, expressions pinched.

Dean turned back to look over his brother groggily and found Sam continuing to blankly studying his left hand as he blinked the light and sleep out of his eyes. "I can't... feel either of them..." he trailed off. Dean winced at the sight of the numb extremity, still too asleep to take action.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice suddenly scared.

"Okay," Dean replied quickly, kicking into gear. His voice was still hoarse from having just woken up but he was as alert as ever as he kneeled closer and hunched towards Sam on the bed. "Here," he said, holding his hands out. Sam automatically placed his hands into Dean's, looking up into his brother's eyes to anchor him. Dean looked up and kept the gaze as he massaged Sam's hands.

"Nothing?"

Sam shook his head, eyes watery. "No."

"They're warm - you could've just been sleeping on them wrong," Dean ventured quietly, massaging Sam's hands and wrists more vigorously now. He didn't take his eyes off Sam though.

Sam swallowed nervously and shook his head.

"No, no they were just on my chest when I woke up," Sam replied, his voice trembling.

"Okay, relax. It's okay, Sammy," Dean reassured, his voice still crackling from sleep. He moved up to feel along Sam's forearms.

"How about that? Do you feel that?"

Sam was about to look down at what Dean was doing when Dean spoke up.

"No, Sammy, look at me, " Dean ordered, knowing Sam's mind would convince itself that it was feeling Dean's touch if he saw it. "Do you feel it?"

A tear in Sam's eye rolled down his cheek when he shook his head and tried to swallow his panic. A pained look came over Dean and he let go of one of Sam's arms to lean forward and touch his cheek.

"Hey... hey c'mon it's fine. It's going to be fine. It's just... asleep," he said, referring to Sam's hands. "They'll wake up."

Sam braced himself and nodded courageously. Dean sat back and started moving up Sam's arms again.

"Okay just tell me when you start to feel something, Sammy," he whispered, moving up to Sam's forearms.

"Okay," Sam replied shakily, staring at Dean as his brother stared right back - only he could tell that Dean was massaging his arms. Dean didn't want him looking but he could still see Dean's shoulders and upper arms moving. It was incredibly disconcerting: Sam knew Dean's hands were on him even though he couldn't feel a damn thing. The bed was rocking as Dean worked on his hands, wrists, forearms. At some point Dean broke eye contact to focus on Sam's limbs. The room was silent save for their breaths, the sheets rustling under Dean's ministrations, and Sam's silent prayers that he'd be able to feel something soon. Sam searched his big brother's expression, looking for any sign that this was too much for him or that he was really worried for Sam. But Dean was pulling out all the stops: it wasn't even a poker face, Sam knew. It was Dean's own brand of self-control: focusing on one task - one job - and refusing to entertain any other thoughts.

Dean moved up Sam's arms methodically until Sam felt a warm twinge.

"Mm... Yeah, I feel that," Sam reported, his eyes widening and looking down at his left elbow. Dean's hand had stopped at Sam's hum then immediately resumed motion.

"You feel that?"

Sam sighed with something like relief and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied just as he felt the same warmth and pressure against his right elbow.

"Same with this one?" Dean asked, rubbing Sam's elbow and upper arm. Sam managed a small smile.

"Yeah."

Dean gave a sigh and let go, leaning forward and placing his hands on Sam's face. Sam wasn't sure what was going on as they shared a really unusual moment of gazing into each other's eyes.

"Good," Dean whispered seriously, "You're not useless."

Sam's head jerked back as he cringed, confused and a little hurt... until he realized Dean was joking. Sam huffed, unable to hide a smile at the playful glint in Dean's eyes as he broke into a grin.

"You're a jerk," Sam gasped in good humor, flopping his numbed hands against Dean's chest and trying to push him off. Dean gave a hoarse laugh, ignored Sam's ineffective hands, and brushed his little brother's hair back affectionately before he moved away. Sam thought Dean was going to settle back next to him so he turned on his side. He waited for the light to go off and to feel Dean lie down next to him but it didn't come.

"Dean?"

"Can you feel this?" Dean's voice came back to him from the foot of the bed and Sam turned to look down. Dean had his hands on Sam's feet above the covers. Sam looked up at Dean and pursed his lips, shaking his head. Dean nodded.

"Okay, same deal, look somewhere else until you feel something," Dean murmured, his voice calm but clinical. Sam nodded, blinking, and looked off to the side. He felt the bed moving as Dean moved up his leg but he didn't feel anything until Dean hit his knee.

"Ah - there," Sam announced meekly. Dean stopped, then placed pressure on his kneecap.

"Here?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed. Dean moved to the other leg and placed his hand over Sam's other knee. "Yeah I feel that too."

"Sweet, so..."

Sam felt Dean's hand creep under the crook of his right knee, igniting a memory from childhood.  _Dean wouldn't..._ Sam thought.

"Dean- _No_!" Sam reached out weakly just as Dean, giggling stupidly, started light jabs into the tendons under Sam's kneecap. Sam's whole body lurched as he tried to suppress his laughter.

"Dean!" He croaked, but instead of coming out angry, the call to his brother was nothing but mirth. "Stop it, seriously," Sam laughed, making Dean tickle him harder, thoroughly delighted to hear his little brother's genuine laughter. Sam continued his pleas until Dean let up in good time, smiling.

"I was just checking you weren't lying," Dean claimed innocently.

"Uh huh," Sam panted, smiling. As Sam brought his breathing back to normal, Dean cupped Sam's kneecaps and rubbed them idly, looking around the room.

"Okay," Dean whispered decisively, getting up. Sam had calmed down and begun to turn back to the gravity of their situation.

"What?"

"I'm going to get more blankets," Dean replied.

"If they're warm then it's not a lack of circulation or warmth, Dean," Sam offered. Dean stopped and shrugged back at Sam.

"Humor me," he replied easily before ducking out of the bedroom. Sam sighed and looked over at the digital clock on the night stand: 4:47 AM.

He'd just discovered that he had no use of his hands or feet, yet he wasn't panicking. He knew it had a lot to do with the way Dean was handling it. It was innate in Sam to gauge situations based off his brother's cues: he had grown up doing it.

But also Sam just felt safe.

There was no impending threat, no frightening monster in the shadows, and feeling numb was a whole hell of a lot better than the straight pain he'd been experiencing before. He imagined Dean was tolerating this new symptom with so much grace due to this too.  _Not_  feeling was preferable to pain at the moment and if it meant that he had to stay in bed and trust his brother, well... He was already doing that anyway. As loathe as it was to rely on Dean this heavily, Sam had to admit that Dean was doing everything right.

At that thought, Sam rolled his eyes. Of course he was doing everything right. This was not the first or even the hundredth time Dean's had to take care of him. It's never been like _this_ , but...

"Back," Dean's raspy voice cut through the room and Sam's thoughts as he shuffled in with a couple of lightweight comforters. He threw one lengthwise across the bed over Sam's feet and kneeled onto the mattress, folding the second comforter out, readying it to cover Sam's chest. He ticked his head up expectantly.

"Put your arms on your chest," he murmured lightly and Sam did as he was told. He felt the comforter cover his body and Dean slumped down next to him. Sam could tell Dean was thinking, then felt the bed jerk as Dean moved over to turn off the light.

They languished in silence, resting next to each other and thinking their own thoughts. Sam blinked and took a breath, about to say something, then let it go with an exhale. He sensed Dean tilt his head to the side on his pillow, curious, so Sam figured he'd just ask.

"Think you'll be able to sleep now?" Sam said tentatively.

Dean gave a snort and turned to look at his brother in the dark. Sam quirked his neck to see Dean's face as his brother started chuckling a couple times more. Sam realized his brother was slowly building into full-fledged laughter.

Unable to help himself, Sam joined in half-heartedly at first, then more as time went on as he fully grasped why Dean thought the question was so funny: the idea that vocalizing an inability to sleep on Dean's part in light of Sam's problems was ridiculous... and hilarious.

Eventually the sleep-drunk amusement turned to chuckles and died down to a few leftover huffs. Dean sighed, smiling in the dark, and reached around to pull Sam against him. Sam went with it, absorbing the stability and sense of security that came with knowing that Dean could  _laugh_  right now. Dean sniffed and rubbed his eye.

"Yeah, man..." he murmured, "I've got a hang nail, too."

And the brothers went off again, their laughs muffled as the sun began to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time!


	5. Numb Part II

Dean had put effort into this, thoughts shifting between amusement and concern as he sprinkled the finishing touches of salt and pepper over the two bacon and cheese baked potatoes he'd prepared. Sam had lost feeling in his hands and feet a few hours ago. Yes, it was alarming but it wasn't painful and it didn't seem to be anything mundane like poor circulation. Sam's hands and feet were going AWOL in a supernatural fashion.

While it had been disturbing to hear Sam's voice on the edge of panic last night, Dean had actually taken the new symptoms in stride. He was more relieved that Sammy's  _other_ symptoms had started to lift. Sam was coherent last night - scared, but coherent - he hadn't thrown up blood, hadn't had too high of a temperature all day that day.

Dean had been waiting anxiously for when Sam could down solid foods again... and numb limbs or not, Sam needed to eat. So, Dean had wracked his mind trying to think of what solid foods would give Sam the nutrition he desperately needed while also minimizing the level of embarrassment the poor guy would feel while eating it. Dean had mocked this situation earlier because he'd thought it wasn't going to happen. Now that it was clear that this very much  _was_  going to happen, he found himself pulling back on the urge to humiliate Little Brother. Dean knew he'd just feel guilty if he did. Instead, he had to do everything he could to make sure Sam would be okay and comfortable with this. Only  _then_  would Dean feel okay to laugh through it - knowing he'd done his best at any rate and with any luck he'd get Sam to find the comedy in the situation too. He used to be really good at that.

When he'd started his brainstorm, he honestly couldn't hold back a grunt of laughter at the thought of feeding Sam a juicy hamburger laden with too much ketchup and mustard. He vaguely hoped one day this situation would repeat itself under less dire circumstances so he could follow through on that but for now he had to acknowledge that hand foods were out.

Sometimes Dean wished Sam knew all the breaks he gave him.

Moving on, stew or soup had to be ruled out because Sam would be mortified if Dean had to wipe his chin. Salad was out too because Dean would end up spending too much time doing concentrated fork maneuvers in Sam's mouth to make sure all the lettuce leaves got inside. Dean also considered eggs since it was breakfast time but soon decided against it. Eggs weren't substantial enough: he needed Sam to eat a heavier meal which meant carbs, fats... Protein was important but the protein shakes had kept him up well enough on that front.

Dean needed a food that would stick to the fork (or spoon) so it wouldn't fall on its way from the plate to Sam's pale, miserable face and something that would go in and come out of Sam's mouth easily with no mess or complication. Only with something like that would the two of them  _maybe_  be able to pretend like it was totally no big deal that Dean was spoon-feeding his huge, completely mentally competent, thirty-year old brother.

Unlikely, but Dean had to try. So he'd ended up with two baked potatoes with melted shredded cheddar cheese on top and good solid chunks of bacon thrown in. Smelled really good - Dean tried a bite and while it was a bit on the hot side, it'd cool down in no time. He set it down on the serving platter and went about getting his and Sam's drinks together. Dean opted for a bottle of water and brought two just in case Sam felt like he wanted a break from drinking the protein shakes. The protein shake was mixed, cold and ready to go on the counter - Dean just plunked it down next to the large plate of baked potatoes and the water bottles. Ready and set, he took a breath and lifted the tray.

* * *

Sam opened his eyes, vaguely registering Dean's room before closing them again. He moved around slightly, getting more comfortable. Sighing, he absentmindedly tried to push hair off his face. Unable to do so, his eyes snapped open as the memory of last night came back to him. He looked around the dark room - wherever Dean had gone, he'd kept the lights off so Sam could continue to sleep - and then down to his hands resting comfortably against his chest under the covers. He tried moving the left, then the right, his right foot; his left. Total paralysis still... and now this was pretty fucking wretched.

Up side, Sam supposed, was that his fever was down. Yet he was still just as, if not more, incapacitated. At least with a fever he'd been able to fall off the bed. Although he could probably still fall off the bed if he, like, rocked his body back and forth. No idea why he'd want to do that now though...

Sam rolled his eyes at his own thoughts and wriggled himself up against the headboard. Realizing he couldn't redo the pillows, he made a face and leaned forward so they wouldn't dig into his back.

"Dean!" Sam shouted miserably, his voice scratchy from sleep, and waited for a reply. The walls were too thick. " _Dean!_ " He called again, louder this time.

"Coming!" Dean returned, his voice distant. Sam gave a sigh and looked at his  _dumb_  arms before using his shoulders to wipe his face. He blinked up at his brother when Dean appeared in the doorway carrying a huge serving tray.

"Hey - how you feeling?" Dean asked casually, turning the overhead light on.

Confused, Sam watched Dean set the tray on a small table against the wall to his right. Whatever it was, it smelled great.

"Um... good... actually," Sam replied, sitting up a little straighter to see what Dean had made. Dean blocked his view until he turned around with the protein shake and water bottles, moving over to the nightstand to set them down. He looked up at Sam.

"Paralysis thing still-?"

"-yeah," Sam interrupted, looking down and moving his shoulder back and forth to show Dean the resultant numb dangling of his arms. Sam looked back up at Dean sadly. Dean, on the other hand, couldn't hide his inner conflict. He  _really_  wanted to laugh. He forced it down and focused.

"You're not in any pain though, right?" Dean asked seriously.

"No, I'm fine," Sam murmured, moving around a little bit. He turned around. "Pillows are digging into my back..." he trailed off self-consciously. Dean gestured for Sam to lean forward. Sam bent over closer to the bedspread while Dean pulled the pillows out and fixed them against the headboard for him. When Dean backed up, Sam scooted up against them and sighed.

"Thanks," he whispered, closing his eyes to ponder how terrible life was.

Dean ignored Sam's courtesy.

"Hungry?"

"Nah," Sam replied immediately, hoping against hope that maybe - somehow -  _please_   _God_ \- this paralysis would go away soon so he could feed himself without resorting to Dean's help.

"'Kay," Dean said casually, going back to the serving tray. Sam was kind of surprised: under the circumstances, Sam thought Dean would be pressing him, negotiating a time frame for when Sam would promise that he  _would_  eat no matter what. Dean didn't though - he just seemed to let the issue go as he picked the serving tray up and moved it around. Sam quirked an eye open to see what it was while Dean set it down on the foot of the bed. He stood up straight and looked at Sam.

"Okay hold on two seconds - I'll be right back," Dean said, backing up, grinning. Sam's brows furrowed in confusion as he watched his brother leave the room. He was gone for longer than two seconds and Sam found himself staring at not one but two baked potatoes with melted cheese mixed in. He identified the smell - it was unmistakable: bacon. The smell of it wafted through the room, relentless, covering every other less-than-appetizing scent and... and it looked really good.

Sam's stomach growled. He twisted to look at the protein shake on the nightstand and gave it a withering look. He turned back to Dean's plate and realized that it was a pretty large serving. Dean must be hungry.

Sam hoped his brother had been taking care of himself while he'd been so out of it... It was rough that he had fixed himself such a large helping for a meal. When was the last time Dean had eaten?

Sam was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of something heavy and metallic rolling down the hallway outside.

"Dean-?"

Dean didn't appear but the metal cart did, a small television resting on its top shelf. Dean angled it over the threshold and centered it in front of his bed.

"Found this," Dean grunted, crouching down to plug the machine in to a socket. "We can watch a movie or something, you know?" Dean said, hopeful. Sam's eyes lit up, grinning back, so incredibly grateful. He took a better look at the machine, squinting.

"Dean, how'd you  _find_  this?" He asked skeptically, sad that he couldn't air-quote 'find.' "It has a DVD player in it."

"Shut up," Dean replied easily, fiddling with the controls to make sure the thing was set to register DVDs. Sam huffed a laugh. Dean was looking down, opening a DVD case below his line of sight.

"What're we watching?" Sam asked, sounding defeated. In truth, he really didn't mind Dean's taste in movies. They were pretty gory sometimes though but hey maybe it'd turn him off the idea of food altogether.

"Godzilla," Dean replied simply. Sam rolled his eyes, smirking, as Dean grabbed the remote from the lower level of the cart and made his way around to his side of the bed. He stood by, pointing the remote at the TV, and pressed 'start.' As soon as the film's credits began, Dean dropped down next to Sam. He crossed his legs, socked feet on the mattress, and pulled the tray up closer. Sam couldn't help but watch the food move, not the film. Dean was oblivious to his focus, thank god, busy messing with the remote.

Sam looked up to the TV, chiding himself for wanting to steal Dean's food, and was surprised to see the very modern-looking production company logos of TriStar Pictures and Centropolis Entertainment. It took a second but then Sam started laughing.

"The remake?" Sam asked, delighted. Dean was settled further from the headboard, hunched over his food in the center of the bed. He saw Dean's shoulders shrug.

"I can take one for the team on this one," Dean grumbled, making Sam start to laugh again. Sam opted out of asking how Dean had managed to pick up the TV and the movie, knowing Dean would give some smart ass answer. He just really wanted to give Dean a thank-you punch on his shoulder... but couldn't.

As the film began, Dean backed up a little further on the bed and picked up the knife and fork from the plate. Dean was ready to dig in and Sam braced himself, knowing that while Godzilla would be a great distraction, he was still going to have to watch Dean eat.

Sam glanced over at his protein shake again and tried not to feel sorry for himself. He turned back to the film and Dean took his first bite.

"This is kind of weird. Watching Godzilla at seven... eight in the morning," Sam commented lamely. He saw Dean shrug.

"We're on weird schedules," Dean replied. Sam bopped his head, nodding, giving that to Dean. Time's different when you're sick and Dean was riding along with him.

A few minutes in, Dean leaned back and twisted around, looking up at Sam.

"How you doing? Still okay?"

Sam swallowed and nodded, smiling with pursed lips.

"In a few minutes, I'll help you with the shake, okay?" Dean said openly. No judgment, no jokes; just Dean telling him he was going to help Sam.

"Okay," Sam replied softly, nodding. He looked up at Dean and Dean gave him a quick nod before hunching over his food again. He stuck a bite of baked potato into his mouth and chomped loudly, gazing at the television.

"...Unless," Dean hedged, his mouth full, "you want to eat some of this," he finished, still watching the TV.

Sam frowned and didn't say anything, thinking. After a few seconds, Dean turned around, his eyebrows raised. Sam squinted his.

"No," Sam enunciated, annoyed. This was a set up. This was a  _fucking_  set up from the get-go, wasn't it?

Dean smirked knowingly.

"No!" Sam repeated vehemently, fixing his brother with an unblinking  _I'm seriously serious_  expression. Seconds later, a quiet moment in the movie allowed his traitorous stomach's growl to be heard.

Sam blushed and jutted his chin out to compensate. Dean was  _not_  going to... No.  _No_.

Dean looked down at Sam's stomach, then back up at Sam, eyebrows raised, trying oh-so-hard not to laugh. Sam kept his steadfast expression of rebellion.

Finally, Dean relented. He shrugged and leaned forward, sticking his fork on an already-cut piece of baked potato and whirled it in the air before leaning back, twisting around to face Sam again.

"S'really good," he said bluntly, looking straight at Sam as he popped it into his mouth and chewed. Sam's mind went sullen before his face did... but Dean could read his mind sometimes...

Dean laughed, grotesquely in Sam's opinion because he was still eating.

"Ha ha ha!" Dean guffawed obnoxiously, his mouth open, masticated food clearly visible. Sam gave a disgusted look at his brother, but rolled his eyes at the win. "Ya gonna eat some of this, then?" Dean asked, swallowing.

Sam settled his eyes back to Dean, studying his brother's face, searching for an ulterior motive.

He found none. Dean actually looked genuinely hopeful; just simply excited that Sam might want to eat solid foods - never mind the fact that Dean would have to feed him.

Sam grimaced, conflicted, wanting to eat and yet  _hating_  the idea of Dean feeding him like a friggin' infant. He looked at Dean, worried.

"You're not gonna be an asshole about this?" He asked.

Dean's smile disappeared.

"No," Dean replied indignantly, "Sammy, no," he reconfirmed. "C'mon, man... I want you to  _eat_ , dude."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	6. Numb Part III

Sam cringed at his brother's rather unusual kindness and looked away. He sighed at the bed sheets, coming to terms.

He felt the bed move and realized Dean was moving up on the mattress. He subtly adjusted himself further against the headboard and maybe the slightest bit closer to Dean.

"Okay, c'mon," Dean murmured and Sam realized Dean had already forked a small bite for him and was holding it in the air near Sam's waist. Staring at the piece, Sam finally looked up at Dean with the most hilariously sad expression Dean had ever seen.

Taking it as his cue, Dean snorted and moved the fork towards Sam. He held his other hand below the utensil to catch any morsel that might fall but his hand was steady and solid. Not entirely surprising; Sam realized that Dean was in his element here and if anything he'd be better at this kind of stuff now because he wasn't like... six years old. And Sam was certainly no longer two.

"Your face is priceless right now, Sammy," Dean said softly, his smile gentle. Sam couldn't help blushing with embarrassment but before Dean had to say, "open up," Sam took the bite off the fork swaying in front of his face. As soon as the fork left his mouth, Dean turned back around and let Sam chew without being watched. He waited for Dean to say something snarky but instead his brother just looked back to the movie and took another bite for himself.

"S'good, right?" Dean asked absently, not turning to look at Sam. Sam nodded, realized Dean wasn't watching him, and gave a small cough before responding.

"Yeah."

At that, Dean twisted towards his brother again, lifting the fork up. It had another small piece of potato on it.

"Here," he muttered, nodding to Sam lightly as if he was doing nothing more than casually handing him a lock pick set. He brought the bite to Sam's mouth and Sam opened up.

It was actually really good. Creamy and cheesy baked potatoes had always been a favorite of theirs' growing up. It kind of took time for them to make though so they hadn't had it very often.

Things went on like that for awhile. Dean did everything he could to make things feel casual and normal for Sam and Sam quietly went with it, eating quite a bit while Godzilla played.

This really wasn't as bad or undignified as Sam thought it would be. Dean wasn't messing with him and that, he realized, made all the difference. With all their trust issues Sam had been somewhat surprised that Dean was so careful and genuine with him right now. He imagined it had a lot to do with how much he'd scared Dean in the past few days. He vaguely recalled a lot of hallucinations, a conversation with Dean's picture of Mom, and having been found on the floor half-naked and shaking, hanging onto the side of Dean's bed. Even if Dean only liked him a little bit nowadays, those moments would still give him legitimate reasons to worry.

Sam continued to watch the movie, comfortably taking the bites Dean offered him. He figured that Dean was doing all of this because he was simply concerned about Sam's health so the least Sam could do was help Dean help  _him_  get better.

...

Yes, Dean had been serious. He wasn't going to mock Little Brother while he was still practically starving.  _However_ , Sam had just passed the half-mile mark on this: he'd finished about two-thirds of his baked potato without any problems... And Dean had bought pretty large potatoes. No nausea, no vomiting: Dean gave an inner fist pump of victory. Monitoring things without gawking at the kid as he passed him bite after bite, Dean knew Sam looked better now too. Not nearly as pale and, while the kid hadn't smiled yet, Dean was sure that the next time he did his eyes wouldn't look so glassy. No shakes or sweats either.

So, yeah,  _now_?  _Now_  he could... maybe...

Dean had purposefully been preparing smaller bites for Sam than himself just so the food wouldn't fall off the fork and also just to take things easy on Sammy and his stomach. Dean's own bites were larger. He wasn't sure but, if Sam had been watching, Little Brother would have deduced that the smaller bites were for him by now. Also, he'd patterned the bites so Sam could know when to expect his next mouthful: Sam, then Dean, then back to Sam, then Dean, and so on and so forth.

So Dean prepared another small piece of food after taking a large one of his own and instead of turning it to Sam, lifted it up to his own mouth to pop it in.

...

Sam squinted his eyes when he noticed that Dean took his second bite in a row... It was a small one too.

That bite was supposed to be his.

...

A few minutes later, Dean grinned when he felt Sam shift his position next to him, making the bed move. Dean pretended he didn't notice and took another bite from the plate. He felt Sam's eyes on him and had to hold back laughter.

...

Sam's eyes stared daggers at Dean's back. He'd hoped shaking the bed would clue his brother in. He was still hungry. He still wanted more and he could easily see there  _was_  more... What the hell.

...

Dean prepped another piece of potato and quickly turned to Sam, surprising him.

"Open up," Dean said clearly, no nonsense, as he navigated the fork to Sam's mouth. Sam's eyes drilled into Dean's as he obeyed hesitantly.

Just as Dean pulled the fork out of Sam's mouth, Sam caught the playful glint in his big brother's eyes; the mischievous smirk that pulled at his lips right before he turned away. Sam's eyes widened, realizing this was deliberate on Dean's part.

"Oh my god, fuck you," Sam whined, still chewing.

"Sammy don't talk with your mouth full," Dean shot back teasingly, laughter in his tone. Sam swallowed and gave a furious sigh.

"Dean, I swear to god-"

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean interrupted good-naturedly, balancing another bite on the fork and turning back to Sam. "Eat your food," he added, smiling, as he gave a flamboyant wave of the fork 'soaring' to 'touchdown' into Sam's mouth.

Sam's eyes blazed, staring at Dean, willfully ignoring the fork's motion until it stopped in front of Sam's purse-lipped frown. Dean stared right back, his own eyes full of amusement, his smile on the brink of laughter. There was no purer entertainment than this.

"Sammy," Dean warned playfully. Sam's breathing was heavy with anger, his jaw set into a sharp angle, and Dean could just  _see_  the conflict in Little Brother's eyes: he wanted to yell at Dean but if he opened his mouth, he knew Dean would jam the fork in before he got a word out.

The stand-off was  _on_.

Dean finally snickered, his face about six inches from Sam's, as he opened his own mouth unconsciously, trying to get Sam to open his.

"Ah...ah..." he hummed, then fell into laughter again as Sam's eyes seemed to flare up in disbelieving rage.

When Dean actually pressed the forkful of food against Sam's tightly closed lips in an effort to wedge it on in there, Sam jerked away and sputtered.

"Dean, god damn it, no. I don't want any more. I'm done eating. We're done," Sam yelled, his voice scratchy but clear. He used his shoulder to wipe the mashed potatoes off his lips and cheek in the midst of Dean cracking up next to him. After a few seconds, Dean stopped and Sam glanced up to find Dean feigning a downtrodden look of rejection. He was ready to go another round but Sam was tired and sad. He'd thought Dean wouldn't be a jerk. He thought Dean wouldn't add insult to injury (or illness) and it wasn't fair. He thought... he thought Dean cared about him.

Sam sighed angrily and used his shoulder again to wipe his bangs off his now sweaty face. When he turned back, Dean's hand was reaching out to him.

"Dean, no-" Sam almost cried, annoyed at any attention being paid him by his brother now. He tried to shimmy away from Dean's hand along the headboard.

"Stop it," Dean murmured seriously and Sam stilled on automatic whenever Dean used that tone. Dean wiped Sam's bangs back more efficiently than Sam's shoulder had and pressed his hand against Sam's forehead gently. He kept it there while tilting his eyes to meet Sam's.

"You okay? Fever?"

Sam sniffed indignantly and shook his head, unable to meet his brother's eyes.

"You're just mad at me?" Dean asked freely, pressing his palm along one side then the other of Sam's face now. Sam nodded.

"Okay, just take it easy," Dean said soothingly, "I'm just messing around, Sammy," Dean reassured warmly, finally placing his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezing.

"Okay," Sam said quietly, still not willing to look up at his brother. He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or angry or still hungry now. He was just really tired.

...

Sam refused to make eye contact with Dean now and Dean really wasn't particularly pleased about how this had panned out. He shuffled right up next to Sam, pulling the plate of food up with him, and put his arm around Sam. Sam let him but he didn't lean into it or anything. He slumped his shoulders so Dean could get his whole arm around him... but Dean ruled that as something Sam just did unconsciously.

Sam really wasn't appreciating Dean at the moment.

Dean sighed, miserably noting how skinny Sam had gotten, and decided to try again without being a dick.

Sam registered that Dean was prepping another small bite of potatoes and braced himself for further mockery. Dean felt Sam tense and gave him a half-hug with his arm before lifting the fork up to Sam's mouth.

"Dean-"

"No, really, c'mon," Dean interrupted sincerely. Sam sighed and opened his mouth. Still somewhat reeling from Dean's obnoxious behavior, Sam bit down a little harder than usual and hit his teeth against the fork's tongs. He gave a small grunt of discomfort and Dean pulled the fork out quickly.

"Dude, don't bite the fork, man," Dean said lightly and Sam could tell he was smiling. At that, Sam managed the smallest of chuckles and Dean rubbed his upper arm while he took a bite of his own. Sam sighed and his eyes wandered over and up at Dean.

"You're like Nurse Ratched," Sam muttered. Dean smiled at that as he prepped another bite for Sam. He leaned back to look down at Sam with the fork in hand and fed him as he replied.

"Florence Nightingale."

"Doctor Kavorkian," Sam replied, his mouth full.

"The hot chick from E.R."

"You're like a hot chick?"

"Shut up," Dean retorted, jamming another bite into Sam's mouth when he opened it to laugh. Sam laughed anyway though with more difficulty given the food in his mouth. He started coughing and Dean used the arm wrapped around him to pull him up higher against the headboard.

"Sit up straight, dude, you're sinking," Dean murmured as he adjusted his little brother. Sam went with it. This time Dean felt Sam lean into him.

"Sorry. I'm tired."

"You want to go back to sleep?"

"I don't know," Sam replied vaguely, not really caring. He felt pretty good now actually: full and warm under the covers and against his big brother...

He melted further against Dean, tilting his head towards his brother's neck. Dean returned the move by angling towards Sam and holding him tighter around his back.

As miserable as this was, Sam felt closer to Dean now than he had in a long time. It felt really nice to, for once, drop all pretenses and find that beneath all their bullshit, they really did care about each other. Dean really loved Sam and Sam had missed knowing it.

Dean casually brushed Sam's hair back, his hand lingering on Sam's head for a quick massage which honestly felt so good Sam couldn't keep his eyes open.

...

Dean tilted his head after a few minutes to give Sam a furtive glance. Sam was pretty close to passing out on him, his eyes closed, breathing steady, looking comfortable and snug against him. Dean quirked a small smile, kind of relishing these 'big brother' moments that had become so few and far between as Sam had gotten older.

He stopped messing with Sammy's hair: as much shit as he gave him for it, growing up he couldn't remember a better go-to way to put the kid to sleep than when he played with his hair. The additional plus was Sam's confused and exasperated face when he woke up with ratty hair with so many knots.

Dean pulled the plate of food up so he could polish off the last bits while they finished watching Godzilla. Sam rustled around against him and stilled as he sank against Dean's chest. Dean followed suit, lowering himself down a little further against the head board and getting comfortable as Sam's pillow. He pulled the covers up over his brother, sighed, and closed his own eyes. Before following Sam into dreamland, he unconsciously rubbed Sam's back to soothe his own nerves as he prayed to Castiel that this was recovery... that they were through the storm and not in its eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	7. Suffocation

Dean slammed into the store room and hit the lights, wide panicked eyes sweeping the area for the medical supplies he'd seen. He and Sam had discovered the room a few weeks ago and he recalled seeing an old tank of oxygen huddled in the pile of medical crap that hadn't been used for fifty some-odd years. Dean swore when his eyes caught on an old gigantic defibrillator after grabbing the oxygen tank. He snatched it and dragged it with him outside, his pace picking up as he rushed back to his bedroom.

The hallways gleamed with polished, sweet-smelling wood. Dean almost slipped a few times since he was only wearing socks. He didn't know what time it was. He didn't know what day it was. He didn't know anything except blind fear for his little brother.

His little brother, who had woken with rasping, pained wheezes. He'd probably realized he was having difficulty breathing and attempted a deeper breath. Which was probably around when he'd discovered that he  _couldn't_  take a deeper breath... and that he  _needed_  deeper breaths for how scared he was getting... And that his brother was completely unaware, sleeping silently next to him... a gentle hand lying across his chest protectively even in sleep.

That was when Sam woke Dean up with his hands, his legs squirming under the blankets and hitting against Dean's and Dean had woken up thinking Sam was excited that he had feeling in his hands and feet again. He'd automatically pressed against Sam's chest reassuringly, starting to smile with his eyes still closed, so incredibly happy that Sam was back to being able to move. The only problem was that Sam seemed to be gasping and his heart beat was going a mile a minute. Sam thumped over against Dean and gave a choked keen against Dean's neck, pawing at Dean's shoulders.

"Dee!" Sam whispered breathlessly, wheezing an inhale, tears coming to his eyes. Dean tensed when Sam rolled into him, opening his eye to see his brother's dilated, frightened expression. Sam wrapped a hand around his neck and shook his head as he gasped, panicked.

Dean shot up and turned over, bracing Sam down against the pillows.

"Did you eat something!?" Dean demanded, needing to know if Sam was choking. Sam shook his head frantically, making small guttural choking noises. Sam was sweating now and Dean leaned down closer to Sam, wiping his hair out of his eyes. Sam gulped and closed his eyes a second, still wheezing.

"Okay. Relax. Panic attack?" Dean asked. God but they'd been doing so good.

Sam wheezed and blinked back up at Dean, shaking his head again. A second later Sam's eyes widened to saucers, unable to breathe at all anymore. His whole body seized with panic and tension, his hands and legs reaching up to Dean.

"Sam!  _Sammy!"_  Dean yelled angrily, "Hold on! Stay with me, damn it!"

Sam stared into Dean's eyes, blunt pain and terror coming through and begging Dean to fix whatever was happening. He gripped Dean's arms tighter, making small, spastic spurts of choking sounds under him. Dean watched, his own eyes reflecting the horror of the situation before he clicked back into reality and remembered the oxygen in the store room.

"Shit," Dean murmured, "I'll be right back Sammy," he promised, leaning down and hugging his suffocating little brother. As ridiculous as it was, Dean gave him a rough kiss against his temple and Sam actually gave a high-pitched wheeze at it in response before Dean ripped himself away from Sam, off the bed, and left him.

Dean ran through the corridor with the aged equipment and smashed his side into the wall as he turned the corner into his room. He rushed to Sam's bedside and crouched down to take a look at his brother. Sam was taking measured half-gasps about six seconds apart. Pale, weak, and sweaty, he could barely tilt his head on the pillow to look at Dean... but he managed it. Sick, sad brown eyes stared at him, dull and depressed.

"Hey Sammy," Dean whispered emotionally, placing a hand against Sam's cheek. Sam's eyes blinked slowly in response and tried to reach to touch it. He lifted his hand up to his waist but had to let it fall, unable to get the strength up.

"That's all right, Sam, don't worry," Dean murmured. He brushed Sam's hair and turned the nozzle on the oxygen tank. "Hold on for me, just another second, Sammy," Dean added, pulling away from Sam and connecting the mask to the tank. He came back with the mask and cupped Sam's head before lightly placing the mask over Sam's mouth and nose.

"Okay breathe, breathe," Dean said softly, hovering a few inches over Sam's face and placing a hand over Sam's chest to feel if it was working. He watched the mask for breathy fog but it wasn't coming.

" _C'mon_ , Sam!" He pushed, tilting the mask against Sam's face harder. Sam blinked and his eyes crinkled with pain and sorrow. "Stop, no, Sam," Dean tried but Sam's eyes were already tearing up and Dean watched as a few fell down his face and into his hair. "No no no it's okay Sam," Dean backtracked, "I'm not mad. I'm not mad. I need you to breathe, Sammy," Dean coaxed, pushing Sam's hair back and wiping his tears away.

Sam stared at him and gave the slightest nod but the tears kept coming. Dean was crouched along the side of the bed and made his decision. He stood up and climbed over Sam onto the bed, still holding the oxygen mask to Sam's face. He kneeled on the bed beside Sam's prone body, wondering if this was good or not but needing to just do  _something_  to make the kid relax and...

"Okay, I'm gonna pick you up. Don't get scared - I've got you, okay? I won't let anything happen to you," Dean said, leaning in towards Sam. One glance at Sam and Dean couldn't help a small smile; Sam looked so worried but still so  _trusting_...

Dean pushed his arm under Sam's back and Sam squirmed a little bit, trying to make it easier for his big brother. Sam, Dean noticed, was still wheezing loudly under the mask but the device was muting the sounds which made things a little less terrifying.

Sam twisted slightly onto his side so he could see Dean and watched with big, watery eyes as Dean opened the covers and put his other arm under Sam's thighs.

"Okay Sammy, just relax," Dean said close to Sam's ear and with one quick yet gentle pull, Sam was lifted, crunching in for a second by Dean's hold, and felt his whole body slide towards his brother in bed. He ended up gasping desperately and cradled lengthwise across Dean's lap. Before he could get his bearings, he felt Dean's hand rub his chest and careful reassurances.

"It's okay, relax, Sammy, breathe," Dean whispered and Sam folded in against his big brother's chest, gasping but still feeling better somehow. Dean tightened his hold around Sam's shoulders and after a couple pulls to get them more comfortable - get Sam's lower torso and legs hitched closer more comfortably against Dean - he pulled the lightweight sheet up and over the two of them. He hefted it up to Sam's chest and glanced again at Sam's eyes.

Sammy's eyes. Brown and slightly unfocused but Sam had been staring up watching Dean the whole time. Dean returned the gaze, giving a small smile as he flashed back to when his baby brother was ten months old, staring up into Dean's face, studying it with wide wonder as his big brother fed him his bottle.

Sam wasn't as adorable as back then... but not by much and not right now when Sam's expression held a similar look of awe... only there was fear in it now, which destroyed the nostalgic moment and tore Dean into an imperative mode:  _take care of Sammy_.

"Okay you breathing a better?" Dean asked, worried, placing his hand over the oxygen mask. Sam closed his eyes and swallowed his trepidation. Dean had the distinct feeling Sam didn't like the mask for whatever reason. His suspicions were confirmed when Sam's hand tried to drag its way up to his face again. "Nah ah ah c'mon," Dean murmured, reaching out and grasping Sam's outstretched hand. Sam tried to squeeze it and Dean squeezed back before settling Sam's hand on his own chest. "We gotta keep this on until you can breathe better," he said, patting Sam's hand before touching the mask. "Okay?" Dean asked and Sam looked up at Dean and blinked, reluctant acquiescence painted over his exhausted expression between ragged breaths. Dean nodded and licked his lips.

He gave a sigh and then lifted his weak little brother up to rearrange his arm. Finished, he let Sam lie back down with his head in the crook of his elbow and Dean's free hand holding the oxygen mask. Sam hummed a pained whine as he was settled back into Dean's arms and against his chest. Dean hushed him and Sam quieted,

"That's it," Dean whispered, starting to alternate between stroking Sam's hair, brushing tears off his cheeks, and making sure the mask was formed to Sam's face properly. Sam breathed, staring up into Dean's eyes, and Dean kept up the litany of encouragement until Sam's eyelids slowly, begrudgingly, lowered bit by bit. His breathing was steady, if not stunted every other minute but Dean would take what he could get.

"Sleep Sammy," he whispered, pushing his palm against Sam's chest and feeling the beat of his heart. Sam tilted towards Dean by a few inches and Dean hooked him closer, bringing the rest of the blankets up over the two of them. Sam was getting cold - he wasn't getting enough air to make him the furnace he normally was.

After a few more minutes, Dean didn't think the oxygen was necessary anymore and took it off, gingerly lifting it from Sam's face and setting it on the nightstand. Sam licked his lips but kept his mouth open: all the easier to breathe.

Dean held his little brother and rubbed his cold arms and legs under the heavier blankets and covers. Sam blinked up at Dean and made a face.

"D-" he rasped.

"It'll go away, Sammy," Dean promised genuinely, stopping for just a second to look Sam in the eyes. "Just like the numb thing... Just like the fever... It'll go away," Dean finished, delicately smoothing Sam's worry lines with his thumb. "You'll be fine."

Sam swallowed, gazing up at Dean.

"You're... here," he managed between light breathy inhales. Dean's eyes creased with a smile.

"That's right. Right here. I'm right here, little brother," Dean reassured, touching the crown of Sam's head and threading his fingers through Sam's hair.

"Good," Sam choked, a couple of tears breaking and rolling.

"Hey-hey-hey c'mon," Dean interrupted, annoyed that Sam was putting himself through some sort of unnecessary emotional inner monologue when he was  _supposed_  to be focusing on breathing and sleeping and getting better. "Don't do that," Dean ordered, touching Sam's face to get rid of the tears and wrinkled frown. Sam sniffed and nodded and Dean held him closer. "I've gotchya," he whispered, starting to rock them like Sam vaguely remembered Dean had done when he'd been really  _really_ little. "I've gotchya right now - nothing's gonna happen. Just sleep, Sammy. Just sleep," Dean urged quietly and Sam reached out. Dean caught his hand and held it.

...

Dean woke up and instinctively gripped Sam... As lightly as possible but enough to make him grunt with discomfort. He writhed in Dean's arms only to settle back down with his head against Dean's shoulder. Dean blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

"Shit," he said bluntly, sighting Castiel standing at the foot of the bed. "Man where the  _hell_  have you been?!" He whispered vehemently, unconsciously tensing and holding Sam tighter.

Castiel gazed at the two brothers, tilting his head.

"Sam isn't well," he stated, then looked to Dean.

"You're batting a thousand, Cas, good job. Can you cure him?" Dean asked, nodding at his little brother in his arms. Cas approached the side of the bed, studying Sam. After a few moments of silence, Dean ran out of patience.

"Cas?"

Cas sighed and rolled up the sleeve of his trench coat.

"Hey whoa you're not uh... you're not gonna do any of that soul-checking shit again, are you?"

"I don't understand," Cas responded truthfully.

"Because if you are, that'll hurt him. He's already been-"

"-Suffering, yes. I know, Dean," Cas interrupted and Dean swallowed nervously. He looked down at his little brother, then back up to Castiel.

"No, Dean. This won't hurt him," Cas answered the unasked question. Dean nodded.

"I don't know if this will do anything but it might help. We'll see," Cas said before leaning forward and landing his hand against the side of Sam's face. Dean held on tighter, holding Sam's hands to his chest and watching anxiously as a brilliant white light emitted from Cas's fingertips and seeped into Sam's head. Sam vaguely woke up in the middle of it and jerked away but Dean was stronger and his reflexes still spot-on.

"Sam! Sammy it's okay. It's okay. It's Cas," he reassured. "It's just Cas. He's going to help you but you gotta stay still, Sammy," Dean explained. He felt Sam start to relax under him. "Good job, good, Sam," Dean praised, "just look at me - this'll be over in a second. Just look at me."

And Sam did. Sam gazed, depending on Dean as an anchor for the strength and love he needed for what had been and what would happen with these trials.

And Dean was up for it as long as Sam could keep looking at him like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time!


	8. Fatigue

Everything was quiet. Sam's breathing and the soft yellow light from the lamp in the corner of the room made everything feel warm and relaxed. Dean's arms were folded across his chest, his back propped against the headboard, his head tilted back and eyes closed. He was dozing above the sheets while his little brother continued to sleep under them nearby. Since Cas's touch, Sam was doing better - breathing better at least. He'd fallen asleep almost immediately and hadn't so much as twitched since. Dean relished the down time and worked on clearing his mind to settle his nerves.

"Dean?" Cas's tentative voice whispered through the room. Dean kept his eyes closed but raised his eyebrows, fully aware.

"Mm?"

"I brought sandwiches."

Dean's eyes opened to see the angel a couple feet away holding a couple of food-laden plates. With one eyebrow cocked warily, he leaned forward to see them: roast beef and a BLT.

"Seriously...?" Dean asked tiredly, reaching out. Cas gave a small half smile and nod.

"Yes," he replied, handing them over to Dean who picked up the BLT and weighed it in his hands before digging in.

"How is Sam?" Cas asked right as Dean took a huge bite. He nodded, acknowledging the question, and gave Cas the one-minute gesture to finish and swallow his food before answering. He swivelled to look at Sam. As much as loathed this emerging pattern of consistent emergencies and genuinely appreciated any moment Sam could have without pain, he felt better when Sam was awake talking to him and visibly cognizant. Dean reached over to calmly rub his brother's shoulder, half-hoping he'd wake Sam up in the process.

No dice. Sam was out like a light so Dean just brushed his little brother's gross, sweaty hair back. The kid needed to take a shower soon... Which probably more meant that Dean would have to give Sam a bath soon. It'd been several days since Sam had had the strength to take a shower on his own. In all truth when Dean thought about it he was kind of disgusted by how filthy Sam must be by now. He'd been changing the sheets and giving Sam clean clothes to change into (when Sam's limbs hadn't been numb, that is) but his hair was greasy and he was starting to break out around his cheeks and forehead (which looked pretty grim against the backdrop of his gaunt face). Sam's stubble had grown out in patches but not by much. Sam's nails were dirty from having scratched dead skin off his body either during or after sweating so much...

Dean gave an inward shiver at the nastiness of it all. He had just kept hoping that Sam would get his strength back before he'd have to do anything about it. He was betting that's why Sam hadn't mentioned anything either... but they were kind of coming down to the wire now.

Dean leaned down a second to see if Sam smelled.

"Dean?" Cas prompted, interested in knowing what he was doing. Cas watched Dean lean back and give a long exhale: Sam was rank. He sighed, taking another bite of his sandwich, and looked back to Cas.

"He is doing better, yes?" Cas asked sincerely. Dean nodded, his mouth full, then shrugged, turning to stare down at the kid. Cas nodded back solemnly.

"I'm very happy to hear that," he stated.

At that, Dean pursed his lips. He was staring at his sleeping brother but his thoughts had moved on. The memory of when he'd last seen Cas: in a crypt gripping a tablet in one hand, a trenchcoat sleeve in the other. Beaten and bloody, on his knees, and begging.

"I'm sure," Dean replied dully before taking another bite. Silence remained between the two of them for as long as Dean chewed the enormous bite. He coughed as he finished and segued: "So where you been?" He asked, his tone casual yet with an unmistakable undercurrent.

Cas's eyes fell to the floor theatrically. Dean remained still as a statue, glaring at the angel's guilty posture. Cas sighed, steeling himself, and gazed directly into Dean's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I had to keep the tablet safe... from everyone. When I touched it, it broke me from Naomi's control. It was-"

"Save it," Dean interrupted, unable to care. He'd hear about it later.

"Dean, I-"

"Cas," Dean broke in again, his voice sincere, "really, don't... I'm not interested." Cas squinted in thought, watching Dean.

"Do you trust me?" He asked gravely, brows furrowed. Dean snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Do I have a choice?" Dean asked, gesturing to him, then his brother, then the BLT for good measure before biting right back into it.

"If you don't want me here Dean, I will go," Cas offered seriously.  
Dean glanced up at Cas, then back down to the bed as he chewed. Everything he felt told him to tell the angel to get the hell out.

Sam, however... Well, Sam trumped his feelings and Cas could heal Sam - or at least alleviate his pain - so if Dean could help it, he needed Cas to stick around.

"No," Dean sighed, slightly frustrated. "Please stay," he said, inwardly cringing.

"-For Sam," Cas added. It was a statement, not a question. Dean gave Cas a withering look and slowly nodded.

"Yeah."

"I will stay and do my best for him, Dean," Cas promised. Dean made sure to close his eyes before he rolled them.

"Okay Cas."  
...

Sam stirred to the sound of water pouring into a basin. A few seconds later he felt the wet cloth Dean had been using on him sweep over and under his left arm with heated up water. He was turned facing Dean's side but Dean was sitting in the middle, crosslegged and leaning over Sam while he worked, humming Metallica. The basin rested at the foot of the bed, sloshing back and forth a little bit according to Dean's movements.

Sam was going to open his eyes and say something - tell Dean he'd woken up - but when Dean got to his hand Sam lost the motivation, relaxing and letting his brother get on with it. It felt pretty good as Dean slid the cloth around his wrist, down and between each finger. It... actually felt amazing. He'd been so terrified he'd lost the use of his limbs for good and now he could feel every careful brush, every stream of warm water that coursed over his palm and fingers.

Dean stopped for a second and set Sam's hand down. Sam wanted to mumble for Dean to keep going but bit it back when Dean grabbed the basin and moved up closer to Sam's head. Sam cracked his sore eyes open and realized Dean had angled his back to him. The water rippled gently; Sam could tell Dean was soaking the wash cloth again.

With one hand free, Dean laid it over Sam's for a few seconds before tightening his hold and moving it onto his thigh. Sam kept his arm limp as it bent, hoping he could just wallow in the sensation of what felt like the best hand massage ever.

Dean hunched over and after wiping his Sam's hand down a couple times more, he started in on using the edges of the cloth to get under his fingernails. Sam had to take a few seconds to let that sink in before accidentally letting out a breathy laugh.

"Wha you givin' me a man'cure," Sam mumbled, his voice scratchy and raw.

"'Cause you're gross," Dean replied, not missing a beat.

"How j'you know I 'as 'wake?" Sam watched Dean's back shrug.

"I got skills," Dean bantered.

"Yeah's a cos...mo...'tlogist," Sam quipped back groggily. Dean sighed, finishing Sam's final finger.

"Nah," he breathed, turning around to face Sam, "never was big on astronomy," he leaned over Sam and felt his forehead while Sam managed a ragged chuckle.

"S'not... I said cosme-TAH-logy nah cos-MAH-logy, Dean," Sam replied goofily.

"I know-I know what you said," Dean replied calmly, still feeling along Sam's face and neck, growing concerned about how warm he was. Sam's eyes wandered to the bedspread while Dean checked him and gave a couple more breathy chuckles before launching into a cough.

"Okay, okay," Dean whispered softly, immediately changing into a kneel beside Sam so he could pull him up into a sitting position against the headboard. Sam hunched forward and held on to Dean's arm, riding the cough out. Dean braced him and rubbed his back.

"Anything coming out? Blood?" Dean asked over him, his voice clear and direct. Sam managed to shake his head. "All right. That's good, Sammy. Just hold on. It'll be over soon," Dean murmured, feeling the cough wracking through his little brother as he held him steady.

The cough began to recede with gasping wheezes and Dean hunched down and tilted his head to check on him. Sam's hair was in the way and he pulled it back, keeping his hand on the back of Sam's head to keep it pinned.

"Okay how you doing? You okay?"

Sam didn't respond, instead just continuing to breathe at a quick pace.

"Try swallowing Sammy," Dean suggested and was pleased to see Sam could do it. At the end of the swallow Sam made an "uh," sound and went back to breathing too quickly.

"Okay now slow it down," Dean instructed. Sam nodded and tried. "Just slow it down. Easy. Relax," Dean continued. Sam squeezed the arm Dean still had around him and Dean grinned. "Okay, you're doing great, Sammy," Dean coached and Sam nodded again. Dean thought he saw a small deprecating smile flicker through his expression.

"M'okay now I think," Sam said weakly, his breath balancing out. He gave Dean's arm a pat, indicating he didn't need the brace anymore and Dean withdrew cautiously.

"Yeah?"

Sam swallowed and nodded as he straightened up.

"Yeah," he confirmed, leaning back against the headboard. Dean let him gather himself. Sam just blinked at nothing ahead of him before rubbing his eyes. He'd slept for a long time so Dean allowed his brother the prerogative to clear the sleep and stale tears in focused silence. It looked like he was wrapping up when Dean hazarded his next question.

"So your breathing's still an issue. Otherwise, how you feeling?"

Sam dropped his hands in his lap.

"Shitty," Sam sniffed. Dean quirked a patient smile.

"All right I need more to go on. You hungry?"

Sam made a face and shook his head.

"Thirsty?"

Sam continued to shake his head, this time more slowly though. His eyelids drooped to half-mast for a second.

"Fatigue. M'tired," Sam said.

"Still?"

"Yeah."

"Okay you need help getting down?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head and slowly, sorely moved down from his sitting position to lie his head back on the pillow. Dean simply watched, making sure Sam was fine, and when he was settled Dean pulled the blankets up over him. He patted Sam's chest.

"Get some sleep."

"Mm."

Dean turned away, leaned over to grab a magazine, and went back to sitting against the head board again, his hip near Sam's pillow. Sam licked his lips and let his thoughts wander... eventually landing on his most recent memories.

"Oh shit," Sam piped up loudly, turning on his side to face his brother. Dean's eyes darted to Sam's, worried.

"What?"

"Was Cas here?!" Sam blurted. Dean relaxed and gave an exaggerated shrug.

"Yup."

"Wha... So what happened?"

Dean sighed and flipped his magazine closed.

"He, uh... He got you breathing again, put you out for the count so you could sleep," Dean said, sounding like he was going to say more but instead just stopped there. Sam squinted and shook his head slightly.

"S'he still here?"

Dean bit his lip and gave Sam a long-suffering look.

"Yeah."

"After what he did to you? You're... you're letting him-"

"Hey, calm down," Dean interrupted, annoyed. Sam did as he was told but his eyes still demanded answers.

"Listen. He can help us right now," Dean said. He paused a second to give his little brother a meaningful look before breaking away to flip the magazine open again. "S'all I care about right now," he murmured, pretending to browse the articles.

Dean felt Sam sigh with defeat beside him. It wasn't long before he fell back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	9. Frailty Part I

Sam jerked as something cold pressed up against his face, again as he blinked his eyes open, frantically trying to stop whatever was smothering his air supply. He was lying on his back, his heart beat racing, breathing already rapid and panicky. He swung his hands out up to his face, trying to get the thing off. His hands landed on... hands.

"Stop-stop-stop it's okay, Sammy," Dean's voice whispered directly overhead. Sam's eyes continued to blink, unable to focus properly, and feebly clawed at his brother's arm as it continued to hold the thing against his face.

"D... Dea-!" Sam breathed, scared, his chest rising and falling too fast.

"Relax. Relax, Sam. It's just an oxygen mask. S'just a mask. I've got you, Sammy, it's okay," Dean promised. Sam shook his head under the mask & reached up to grab Dean's shirt.

"I don'... stop it," Sam cried through the mask, his eyes starting to water, "please.. Dean, please.." he begged weakly under the plastic contraption covering his mouth and nose. For all the good it was supposed to be doing, it felt like it was suffocating him.

"Okay, okay," Dean murmured, unable to force it on Sam any longer given his pathetic pleas, and removed the mask. He leaned over Sam to set it down on opposite side where the tank was stationed. Sam was still breathing in fits and starts but his relief from getting the thing off of him improved things.

"Than'...k'you..." Sam gasped and Dean nodded as he hovered, his right ear angled at Sam's mouth, listening. After a moment Dean moved up closer to hunch over Sam. He pressed his hand against the side of Sam's chest a few inches below his armpit.

"C'mon, Sammy, breathe," he asked quietly, pressing his hand against Sam reassuringly.

"'M... try'n..." Sam gritted out, knowing Dean could feel the effort he was making and thinking Dean could quit the demands.

"Okay... okay. Don't talk," Dean whispered and ran his other hand over Sam's sweaty forehead and used the moisture to slick his hair back. Sam made a grunt that sounded a lot like, "ew," and Dean let out a breathy laugh. Sam closed his eyes to focus and after a short time, his breath began to stabilize.

"Good, good...Deep breaths, that's it," Dean murmured, measuring Sam's chest movement and watching it go down. "Good job, nice work," Dean praised as Sam brought things back to normal after a few minutes. Sam gulped and nodded vaguely before opening his eyes.

"What..." he coughed, "What time is it?"

Dean moved his hand off Sam's side to look at his watch.

"Eleven."

"AM or PM?"

Dean gave a small smile and leaned back against the headboard next to his brother.

"PM," he replied.

"I slept the whole day?"

"Yeah you kinda slept through a fever," Dean replied. Sam looked at his brother, squinting his eyes.

"You don't look tired."

Dean shrugged.

"I'm kinda on your schedule, remember?"

"Mm," Sam yawned and stretched his arms out, looking idly around the room. Dean pursed his lips and tilted his head, taking stock of his little brother. His face still pale and sweaty except for rosy circles along his cheeks (left over from the fever) and a few monstrous flaming red pimples forming... his glassy, sore eyes were bloodshot, eye cavities a raw dark pink. His hair was a tangled, greasy mess and while Dean had gotten his arms and fingers earlier with warm water, Sam was still a mess.

Sam sighed, ignoring Dean's gaze on him to absently look up at the light grey cement ceiling. He wished that this wasn't a bunker; with no windows or clocks, it seemed like time didn't exist. Eleven at night and it felt like maybe one in the afternoon for him.

Sam ticked his side to the right to look at his brother.

"You okay?" He asked softly, glancing over and taking in Dean's appearance. He looked pretty good, all things considered. Black smudges under his eyes, stress lines more pronounced but Sam figured that was reasonable wear given what he was going through.

He noticed his brother was wearing a pair of navy sweatpants with a plain white t-shirt. They looked clean - maybe freshly laundered - and suddenly Sam found himself coveting the ensemble.

Eventually Sam's eyes landed back on Dean's contemplative expression. He nodded seriously before murmuring, "I'm okay, Sam," with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction at its veracity. "How 'bout you?"

Sam gave an apologetic smile and shook his head, his eyes unconsciously pooling.

"Probably not as good as that."

"It'll get better. It's getting better."

Sam swallowed.

"We don't really know that," he whispered, trying to sound objective but ending up too shaky. Dean huffed and stared at him expectantly before gearing up for the pep talk he knew he'd have to give eventually once Sam was cogent enough to hear it.

"All right," Dean turned, angling his body towards Sam, "here's the bottom line, man. There's no use in worrying about what's going to happen. It just adds more stress to the situation and it helps no one. So we're going to take this like we have been taking it which is one day - one hour at a time until you get back to good."

"But-"

"No - no buts."

"If-"

"If something bad happens, I'm right here. We tackle it down like we have all the rest of your symptoms," Dean interrupted again, determined and lacking his usual undertone of anger which made Sam feel better. Still, he bit his lip and frowned, his misgivings still clear, reasonable arguments in his head.

"Sam, we're gonna beat this, you understand me?" He paused to soften his words, "You just need to hang in there, little brother," he said, breaking a gentle smile and managing to make Sam feel stronger than he knew he was. Sam gave a conciliatory smile back and took a deep breath.

"Okay."

"Okay," Dean mimicked, pushing a hand over Sam's hair. Sam grimaced, feeling the way his hair moved in clumps like the strands were stuck together. Dean withdrew his hand and turned to the side, letting Sam get his bearings.

Sam rubbed his face and felt the patchy stubble along his cheeks and chin, dead skin and zits and the sleep in his eyes. When he touched his lips he immediately wiped the corners of his mouth, breathing a disgusted, "ah."

"So you think you'll be staying up?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's attempts to self-groom: it was pretty hopeless without water and soap. Sam huffed when he was done and gave a small shrug.

"I don't know. Maybe. I guess," Sam said absently, smoothing his hands along the sheets. He noticed they were trembling involuntarily.

"Think you can hold it down if I get you something to eat?"

Sam thought a second and gave a slow nod.

"Yeah probably," he said and Dean made his move to get off the bed, "what're you gonna get?"

Dean shrugged as he pulled his grey robe off the back of a chair to put it on.

"Eh, I don't know. I've got Cas in the kitchen."

"Oh yeah he's still here."

"Yeah but I told him not to come in unless I called. I'm sure he's got something though. I'll see," he mumbled the last part as he started to leave.

"Hey... Dean?" Sam called. Dean stopped at the threshold.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Sam said meaningfully. Dean rolled his eyes but grinned charmingly before leaving Sam alone.

Sam's smirk vanished with the sight of his brother. He pushed the covers down to pick at the ratty black t-shirt he'd been wearing for the past, what, two days? He'd slept in it most of the time but still he'd whine if he wasn't a grown man. Also, the color of this shirt wasn't lost on him: it was a dark so whatever food or stains were on it wouldn't be immediately visible. Sam squinted at the shirt to see if there was anything...

Oh yeah.

Gross.

Abandoning the forensic analysis of his shirt, Sam lifted the covers up to check out what pants he was wearing. They were an old pair of track sweats he usually never donned even while running. He vaguely remembered the struggle to put them on alone in bed once Dean had left him privacy - the delirious swears he'd uttered because he just really hated them. Cheap polyester was never a comfortable fabric and the drawstring always cut across his waist the wrong way: they'd ride up on him too.

With shaky hands he untied the string and pushed the waistband out to loosen it. Knowing he was going to eat, he pulled them down lower more along his ass for good measure just so there'd be no pressure against his stomach.

With that done, he pulled the covers back up to his chest and found himself out of breath. He was really weak, he realized, if he couldn't even handle coordinated body movements like that. Sam closed his eyes, getting over the physical exhaustion. This was awful.

"Fuck," he rasped. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up into a hunched sitting position. It was slow going, punctuated with a few grunts of annoyance, but eventually he got there. He stayed there too, breathing like he'd just finished a sub-five-minute mile. He couldn't hear Dean arrive over the sound of his own wheezing.

"Hey," Dean said casually as he walked in carrying a tray. "Whoa! Hey, are you okay?" He asked, hurrying to set the food down.

"Yeah... yeah," Sam breathed, nodding. He raised a shaky hand up, a gesture to just let him handle it.

"You sure?" Dean asked, coming up to the side of the bed and sitting down. Sam nodded, slowing down. He gulped loudly a couple of times.

"Yeah," he said, managing to give Dean a wan smile. Dean's concerned expression stared back at him, swiftly replaced with acceptance.

"Okay let's get you leaned back though," Dean replied, moving up and grabbing the pillows behind Sam to stack them. Finished, he leaned away and Sam leaned back in perfect silent synchrony.

"What'd you get?" Sam asked, his breath still unsteady. He eyed the tray and Dean moved it forward.

"Mac 'n cheese," Dean answered sounding more serious than he probably intended. Sam smiled at his expense for a second thinking about it.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Nothing," Sam replied innocently before getting a look at the dish. "Wow that looks good," Sam acknowledged, his tone laced with genuine gratitude. Dean grinned and brought the fork over to dip into the breaded surface and sink further into the creamy pasta below. He stopped for a second, hand still on the utensil, and looked at Sam with an open expression.

"Are you okay to eat this?"

Salivating like one of Pavlov's pets, Sam swallowed.

"Yeah definitely."

"No, I mean like..." Dean trailed off and shook his hand holding the fork.

"Oh... yeah," Sam said, reaching out with his hand. It still had those involuntary tremors like he was in a stage of withdrawal but he'd lost the paralysis and he definitely had enough strength for the small, simple movements necessary to feed himself. He got a hold on the fork and gripped it properly. Dean nodded and moved off the bed before Sam could get a bite in.

"Okay you all good?" Dean asked, framing Sam with his hands.

Despite his roaring appetite, Sam's eyes widened and he stopped what he was doing.

"Yeah but... where you going?"

"Grabbing my own dinner," Dean said casually, about to walk out of the room.

"Oh," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah," Dean said, simply, checking and picking up a couple dirty plates to bring back to the kitchen before he left.

Sam watched his brother, his poker face on while his mind reeled. He'd wanted Dean's company for dinner... but it was foolish to think Dean didn't have things to work out with Cas. Plus it'd been like days of nothing but spending time with just Sam... fielding emergencies and taking care of him. Now that Sam seemed to be better (his general frailty notwithstanding) and he could eat on his own, it'd make a lot of sense that Dean would want a time-out. He was actually probably jumping at this opportunity to take a breather... especially with Cas whom Sam knew could be there for Dean in a way he sometimes couldn't. Sam's posture unconsciously diminished as that thought ran through his head.

But Sam had really believed that now that he was doing better, Dean would maybe want to enjoy the small victory with him. That they could both guardedly celebrate him eating on his own or that he was able to have a coherent conversation for longer than ten minutes...

Dean gave Sam a double-take just before he left and stopped mid-step. His brows furrowed with confusion at what his brother might be thinking to have him looking so downtrodden.

"What?"

"Um," Sam coughed a second and rubbed his eyes to recover as he asked, "could you leave the remote for me then?" Sam looked around dazedly. "D'you know where it is?"

Dean looked around the room.

"Uh, no... I can find it later though-" Dean said before walking into the hall.

"Wait! Dean?" Sam called helplessly. There were no books in reach of him; he didn't think he was up for reading much anyway. If he was going to eat separately from Dean he may as well have the TV on; being sick and alone and eating in silence was going to be boring and... sad.

Dean stopped and backtracked so he could see his brother from the hallway.

"What?" Dean asked, annoyed.

Sam felt chastened by his brother's attitude, slightly embarrassed that he was going to ask Dean to do something as insignificant as turning the TV on for him. After all he'd done for him and Dean just wanted to go eat and talk to Cas, Sam didn't feel like he had the right to delay him a second more.

"No, sorry. Nothing, nevermind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	10. Frailty Part II

The look of judgmental confusion on Dean's face gave way to an exaggerated nod and an exasperated, "okay," before he turned back down the hallway. Sam heard his footsteps echoing away from him and sighed, looking down at his plate of mac and cheese. His hand trembling tightly, he scooped a bite and took it, chewing miserably.

It was really shitty that Dean had been so kind and open about staying for him if he needed to be fed. Like that was the only thing that'd keep him. That he'd stay only when Sam was sick but didn't want to be around him otherwise when he was fine (well, relatively speaking).

Sam wasn't sure if it hurt more or less that it was Cas Dean was choosing over him either: would Dean have gone to go eat out in the library alone? Probably not; Dean liked eating with people... Dean usually ate with Sam and talked to him at the same time which was always pretty revolting but right now Sam would have taken it.

So why couldn't Dean have invited Cas into the room so the three of them could've eaten here?

Sam's mind came back with the answer immediately: Dean and Cas had to sort things out together. Dean told him about what had happened in the crypt. That kind of thing takes a lot of time and words to get past.

...But Sam had been sleeping all day. Surely, if Dean had needed to talk to Cas about these things he could have done it while Sam hadn't been awake. Maybe Cas didn't want to see Sam either.

Tucked away in this quiet room while Cas and Dean could speak freely without him, Sam felt like a kept secret. Would they talk about him or ignore that he even existed while he just sat there in bed, eating alone, fully aware and able to engage for the first time in days.

This felt like a concerted effort to spare Dean the trouble of being around him for at least an hour. Sam understood; he could fully grasp why Dean would need a break. And if Sam needed him he could literally just pray to Cas and they'd be there in an instant, he knew.

Still, Sam felt wretched and he didn't have anyone to be with him. Feeling like he was a priority to Dean just because he was sick meant that he wasn't really a priority at all...

And if he wasn't a priority to Dean, there was no one else. He had no one else that cared about him nearly as much as Dean. His brother was the bar and if it was just because he was sick that he was acting this way then it obviously wasn't a very high one.

Sam wiped his eyes clear of tears and sniffed over his mac and cheese before taking another bite. He was doing a good job; trying to eat fast so he could fall back asleep again before Dean got back. Or maybe Dean would come check on him so he could end up asking him to turn the TV on after all. Anything to get him out of these thoughts: he really needed to get a grip.

His hand jerked a little too heavily and a piece of pasta fell onto his shirt. One more food stain on this repulsive, ratty, stale-sweat-soaked t-shirt. Sam struggled to stop tearing up at every little god damned thing as he picked it up and ate it. He knew it was just... part of being sick and weak and... Sam sniffed again, his nose wrinkling with distaste. He looked around, then pulled a clump of hair closer to his nose.

Oh god. He smelled awful.

Sam threw the fork into the bowl and pushed it away to cover his face with his hands. He sat there for a minute or two, just trying to pull himself together. He'd get through this, he thought, but every time he'd reassure himself in his head it always came out in Dean's voice but Dean had made it pretty clear that-

A bang against the door startled Sam. He looked up just as Dean swore upon entering, having tripped somehow while carrying a plate of food inside. He glanced up for a second before moving to his side of the bed.

"Hey bud," he said, setting the plate down on the mattress. Sam blinked in surprise and sniffed.

"Hey."

Dean didn't look at Sam and instead started searching around the room, eventually wandering around the bed, scrutinizing the floors.

"Sorry for taking so long. Cas had to talk to me about something," he said absently as he moved. He walked over to Sam's side of the bed and crouched down.

Sam watched as his brother moved around. He wanted to respond and say it was okay that he'd taken so long. He couldn't though. He really needed to calm down; settle down from the embarrassingly desperate relief coursing through him with his brother's return.

Sam huffed a wet laugh when Dean gave a triumphant "ha!" after finding the remote hidden inside the bed sheets that'd been bunched up on the floor. Dean swung around and flicked the television on as he moved around the bed to his side. He glanced at Sam and gave a double-take.

"Hey - you okay?" Dean checked, concerned. He noticed the food on the bedspread. "What's wrong with your food? Why's it pushed away?" He asked casually, picking his plate up from the mattress and sitting down in its place; in his place, next to Sam.

Sam gulped and shook his head quickly, leaning forward to bring his bowl back in front of him.

"S'it too cold?" Dean queried again, watching Sam more closely now.

"No, no it's really good," Sam sniffed, taking a bite as evidence. Dean eyed his little brother, the same confusion he'd felt before coming back as he studied the kid. Something seemed off, like he was battling tears. "What," Sam started, then paused to chew more before he continued, "what'd Cas have to say?"

Hesitant to carry the conversation without knowing Sam was a hundred percent, Dean took a moment, watching him with concern.

Sam didn't meet Dean's gaze, zeroing in on his food like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. If he looked at him, Dean would see that he'd been on the brink of tears and that was the last thing he wanted his brother to know about since it had had nothing to do with physical pain.

Dean gave up and finally relented with an answer.

"Cas thinks Crowley's got Kevin," Dean said solemnly. Sam flinched, watery wide eyes darting to Dean's.

"Does he know where they are?" Sam asked, his voice cracking by accident. Dean pursed his lips, finally getting a good look at his little brother. Sam's eyes were splotchy and wet, left over from something that'd happened while he'd been gone. If something had happened and the kid wasn't telling him...

"Dean?" Sam prompted, his voice steadier this time. Dean weighed whether or not to drill Sam on how he was feeling right now before answering his question. After a second thought he figured the sooner he finished the update, the sooner he'd be able to focus on Sam... Sam was always better at answering questions like that when he didn't frame them like demands anyway.

"He thinks he does, yeah... He's going there now - left a few minutes ago - to rescue him."

"What's his plan?" Sam prompted quickly, worried.

"It's solid," Dean replied confidently. "I don't know all the details but... Cas seemed certain he could break in and get out under the radar."

"-but what if he can't?"

At that, Dean sighed and gave Sam a tired look.

"Then I'm sure we'll hear about it, Sam."

"But Dean-"

"Sam," Dean countered, silencing his little brother by tone and expression. "Eat your food."

Sam stared at Dean for a second, wondering if he should press the issue further or not. This was a moment of trust for Sam to have in Dean: if things were really that dangerous, Dean wouldn't have let Cas go alone...

Or... would he have? Sam was pretty sick... Would Dean have-

"-And use your napkin. You've got food around your mouth," Dean added comically, cutting through Sam's thoughts like a knife with one of his most classic strategies: embarrassing Little Brother.

Sam took the bait, successfully distracted by the quick need to wipe his mouth.

"My hands are shaky," Sam explained lamely, rubbing the last of the sauce off his stubbly chin.

"Uh huh," Dean replied, smiling wryly as he dug into his sandwich.

"Shut up."

"You shut up. Okay, what do you want to watch?" Dean asked, raising the remote control up.

"I don't care," Sam replied honestly. Dean was with him.

"Okay," Dean breathed, flicking through channels and landing on The Great Escape. They continued eating to the sound of the film in comfortable silence. Sam couldn't finish all of his but it was still the best portion he'd managed to eat since this whole thing started. Dean pulled the tray from him when he was done, added his own empty plate, and shoved it over onto the desk. He moved back to settle in again, wrapping an arm around Sam when he realized the kid was listing against him.

The gesture of affection was neutralized when Dean got Sam's filthy hair and body so close to his nose. Jesus, it was pungent. Sammy was legitimately turning into Pig-Pen from Charlie Brown.

Dean couldn't help but smile at that thought, thinking of Sammy when he'd been that young and so attached to Blankie. No matter how often Dean laundered it, that thing had been so revolting it would've given Sam's current t-shirt a run for its money. Dean slowly counted to ten before talking about this... just so it wouldn't seem like an immediate rejection. It'd been a really long time since Sam was sick but Dean could still recall the kid turned into a delicate flower when he fell ill. Clingy too; Dean understood abandonment issues better than anyone but Sammy's used to come out with the subtlety of a fog horn when he was sick.

With the way Sam was acting when he'd come back to the room, Dean suspected something along those lines had already happened. He'd only been gone for like five (well, okay more like ten) minutes to get his dinner and talk to Cas but that was probably enough. Now that Sam seemed fine though, leaning against him and watching the movie, his breathing steady and free of any dire symptoms, Dean wasn't going to bring it up if Sam wasn't.

At any rate, Sammy really needed a bath. So normally meticulous with personal hygiene, Sam must have noticed this by now too.

"Hey, um, Sam?" Dean squeezed Sam closer, setting his little brother up to know that what he was going to say wasn't meant to be a request to get off of him. Yeah he was repellent but if Dean showed Sam affection just because the kid smelled good, that'd be weirder.

"Yeah?"

"You need a bath, dude," Dean said, blunt but not harsh. Sam tensed against him, sniffed and wiped his nose.

"Sorry," Sam replied, sounding pitiful.

"No, I mean. Do you want to take a bath?"

"Oh," Sam said, unsure about how that'd work but unable to say no just yet, "um..." Sam trailed off, admittedly desperate to say yes but uncertain about what Dean had in mind.

"I could get things set up for you, help you to the bathroom..." Dean suggested, knowing Sam was still too weak to wash very well. Dean didn't want to disclose very much; he just needed Sam to say he'd make it to the bathroom with him. Once there, it'd be easier to bully him into accepting his help. Sam was a weird mix of fierce independence and crippling mortification when he came down to stuff like this. Weird as hell considering Dean had been taking care of him ever since he was six months old. "Think you're up for it?"

"Yeah," Sam replied immediately. He could do that... and even if he was too debilitated to wash up properly it'd still feel so damn good to soak in hot water. "When?"

Sam felt Dean shrug behind him.

"How 'bout now?"

Sam swiveled a little to look towards Dean.

"Really? But isn't it like midnight?"

"So what? We've both been sleeping off and on all day. Unless you're tired," Dean added as an afterthought, genuinely willing to skip this plan if Sam needed more sleep.

"No, no, I'm not tired," Sam replied, his hopes rising. Shit, he was really looking forward to this now. "Really? Like right now?"

"Yeah I'll get the water going," Dean said lightly, giving Sam a small side-hug before pulling his arm away.

"Okay... Okay, yeah," Sam said, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. Dean glanced at Sam before leaving the room, grinning back at the kid's hazy bright eyes and dimples.

As Dean entered the bathroom to get things ready, he heaved a sigh. This endeavor was going to be tricky. He hoped Sam wouldn't be so spent by the trip from the bedroom to here that he'd be incapable of bantering. Repartee would be their only saving grace for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	11. Hygiene Part I

Dean walked back to the bedroom and put his hands on his hips.

"What?" Sam asked from his upright position in bed. Dean cinched his mouth to the side in thought and started approaching Sam's side.

"How we going to do this, you think?" He mumbled. Sam nodded, then adjusted his position in bed. His brows knit with concentration as he leaned forward and twisted his legs off the edge of the bed and to the floor. He stopped then, breathing heavily, and felt the bed depress beside him. Dean leaned to the side, his hand rubbing his back. Sam nodded, still looking down, answering the unasked question if he was okay.

"I, um," Sam swallowed, "I think if you just help me, I can... walk it..."

"Really?" Dean asked, but he was already sidling up closer, weaving his left arm across Sam's back and getting a good hold of his side under his left armpit.

"Yeah," Sam said, still a little breathless. He lifted his right arm and Dean ducked his head under it. Sam let it hang on Dean's shoulders for a second before tightening his grip.

"All right on three," Dean said, getting ready beside his brother. He noticed the bed was bouncing a little with their combined weight on the same side. "Hey you want to use the bed to help launch you up?" Dean asked, smiling as he pushed down on it and made the two of them spring back up a little bit.

Sam huffed a laugh.

"No."

"Okay whatever," Dean said lightly, having other plans. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Okay one," Dean pushed down on the bed and let it spring them up, "two..."

"Dean-" Sam whined, feeling the bed depress again and spring them up higher this time. This was so juvenile.

"Three!" Dean pushed harder down on the mattress with his body and Sam felt the resultant force push him up. He went with it and found he was almost standing when he registered Dean's arms tighten around him to pull him up the rest of the way. Sam held on for dear life and tried to stay up but...

"Lock your knees -  _lock your knees, Sam_!" Dean yelled.

"I... can't..." Sam heaved, trying to maintain a standing position but instead slipping inch by inch away from his brother like a rag doll.

"Shit," Dean murmured and heaved Sam up for a second before coming around to Sam's front and basically picking him up. Sam grunted, his head landing over Dean's shoulder, both hands scrabbling for purchase along Dean's back but Dean was holding him securely anyway, his right arm around Sam's waist, left arm higher up on his back.

"Uh...sorry..." Sam groaned.

"It's okay. Can you stand? Try to stand, Sammy," Dean suggested, still holding him up. He knew it was unlikely but... maybe...

Sam's breathing was heavy against Dean as he strained, pushing on the floor with his legs as hard as he could.

"C'mon, c'mon," Dean murmured carefully, feeling Sam's whole body tense in an effort to stand up against him. Sam gripped the back of his brother's t-shirt, grunting with frustration and breaking into a sweat.

"All right, all right, Sam, it's okay," Dean gave up, rubbing Sam's back as he held him. Sam didn't want to though; he really wanted to be able to do this and just because Dean had given up didn't mean he had to. He kept working at it, huffing and red-faced with exertion trying to coordinate his legs and push. Sensing his brother's defiance, Dean stopped talking, stopped rubbing his back to let him focus and keep trying.

Eventually Sam started to slow down, hope draining out of him along with all the rest of the energy he'd had. Completely spent, Sam hung limply against Dean after having failed to take his own weight. Sam drooped sullenly. As much as he wanted to wash up, he didn't want to be dragged to the bathroom to do it.

"I... I can't," Sam finally said, his voice trembling. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, ducking his head against the back of Dean's neck. He felt Dean hug him and he had to bite back a sob. Dean hugged him tighter, having felt it anyway.

"All right. It's okay," Dean whispered calmly, making Sam give a watery laugh. Dean's voice had that quality to it that he hadn't heard in ages... The one he used to use when he was like five.

"Okay. Yeah... um... can you put me down? This... isn't gonna work," Sam said shakily, upset this whole idea was a no-go. He'd just have to deal with getting a fresh change of clothes and wait until his strength came back. He hated this... he just wanted to feel clean and not like he's just consistently stewing in his own germs and dirt and dead skin...

He felt Dean rub his back again. It felt good; soothing, but Sam was already lamenting his circumstances in his mind. He hated this.

"Okay Sammy," he said consolingly, then stepped forward and suddenly shoved Sam off him onto the bed harshly. Alarmed, Sam yelped loudly in the air before landing on the soft surface. The springs made themselves known, bouncing Sam gently up and down as the little brother recovered and looked up to stare daggers at his chuckling older brother.

"Ah!" Dean mimicked Sam's yelp, breaking his chuckles into laughs before he started walking out the door.

"You're an asshole!" Sam yelled.

"Shut up I'll be right back," Dean waved dismissively.

"Where are you going?!" Sam called back. Dean didn't answer, having already walked several paces down the hallway.

Sam huffed in annoyance which soon gave way to disappointment, figuring Dean was just grabbing him a clean set of clothes. He wriggled up to settle back down on his side with his pillow under head. Having expended all his energy trying to stand, he was exhausted and just monitored his breathing as he stared up at the ceiling.

He thought about the third trial and wondered what the hell they were going to do about it. Hopefully Cas would be able to save Kevin so he could translate the third trial. That, however, was out of both his and his brother's control at the moment. All they could do right now was stay in this limbo of trials-related symptoms that disturbingly mirrored those of a terminal illness. Still, Sam was trying to stay alive and Dean was working on keeping him alive... It'd be a team effort until one of two things happened and neither would be anyone's fault.

God, how long was this really going to last though?

Sam rubbed his eyes but he wasn't tearing up anymore. He suspected he needed more water in his system and made a mental note to ask Dean when he came back with new clothes.

...

It was miserable to have made Sam go through that, Dean thought, but it was a necessary evil in order to build ammunition against Sam for when the kid would get all antsy about helping him in the bathroom.

Not to mention, if Dean had brought the wheelchair around before letting Sam try to get there on his own steam he'd never hear the end of it. Sam could be a contrary little beast if he felt like he was being robbed of agency. Of course, he  _was_ , but not by Dean.

So yeah, sure: Dean knew the odds were incredibly low that Sam would've been able to make it all the way to the bathroom... but damn. The kid couldn't even take his own weight.

In the end he supposed it was more convenient and comfortable for Sam that he couldn't even stand because Dean thought he'd end up having to leave Sam on the floor. Instead he was able to just throw the kid back on the bed which had definitely been a good move given the added benefit of breaking Sam out of whatever emotional inner monologue was making him upset right before that.

Man, Sammy got way too dramatic over shit he couldn't control...

Dean reached the bathroom and opened the door. Warm, humid air hit him as he passed by the long double-sink counter and the fogged mirror above it. Vanity bulbs above the mirror radiated warm yellow light and cast comfortable shadows around the spotless white-tiled floor and porcelain. A tower of several large terry-cloth folded towels were stacked on top of one another on the edge closest to the tub. They were worn-in, the colors dulled and with threads hanging off the edges but they were soft and clean, ready for Sam.

The toilet seat was situated between the counter and the tub and the tub was embedded along the side of the room. Dean had decided on this bathroom because it was so close to his room but also because the tub was probably long enough to fit most of his sasquatch-sized little brother. Also, most of the other tubs in this joint were the ones that weren't part of the floor; rather they were those huge porcelain bowls with clawed-feet and unless Dean wanted to bruise his ribs and strain his back while helping Sam, he wasn't gonna throw the kid in one of those (not to mention those things had deep bottoms; if Dean had opted for that kind of tub he wouldn't want to leave the room for a second now that he knew Sam couldn't even muster the strength to stand up). That said, Dean vaguely remembered from when he was a kid that he'd be straining his back to help Sammy anyway but at least he'd be able to kneel.

Dean bent over the tub to turn the faucet off and feel the bathwater's temperature. He grunted his disapproval: at some point the running water had turned scalding. He removed the plug to let some of it drain, knowing that even if they took too long and the tub drained completely, it wouldn't be a big deal. The bunker's power source was obviously magical in some way. They weren't going to run out of hot water.

Dean wiped his hands along his shirt as he stood back up. Just before opening the door to go, he stopped for a second to look at the condensation on the mirror.

Ever the obnoxious older brother, Dean stepped forward, reached out to the mirror, and drew the words, "Sam's ugly and stupid," with his finger. He closed the door behind him to keep the room warm, grinning with sophomoric delight as he moved down the hallway.

He headed towards the med supplies room where he'd gotten the oxygen tank. He had to pass by his room and when he did, he heard Sam shout his name in annoyance.

"Yeah yeah I'll be there in a second, dude!" He called back without altering his pace. He heard Sam whine, "What's taking you so long?" and Dean shook his head, not bothering to answer.

"So needy," Dean murmured, feigning exasperation as he entered into the supply room to grab the wheelchair. It was up against a wall behind a few other odds and ends. He pulled it out, making the rest of the stuff against it crash to the floor loudly.

"Shit," Dean said, trying to maneuver his way out of the fallen pieces.

"Dean!? Are you okay?!" Sam's croaky yell filtered through to Dean.

"Yeah all good!" Dean called back, knowing if he didn't Sam would try to do something stupid to get to him.

Dean wrenched the wheelchair away from the debris and swore again at the sheer weight of it. This thing was iron metal; none of that lightweight aluminium they used these days. This thing was an antique.

Dean tried to pry it open and grunted with the effort. This was a rusty,  _sharp_  antique. It creaked and squealed open and the seat's leather cracked straight down the middle to reveal dusty, horizontal straps. Dean sneezed and hum-whined his distaste and disapproval as he wrangled with it. Finished with opening the thing all the way, he started pushing it back and forth, trying to make the wheels steadier but they were slightly out of alignment, squeaking and jumbling the movement of the chair seat.

Dean sighed and inwardly shrugged.

"Guess it'll have to do," he murmured aloud before turning it around and pushing it through the door into the hallway.

...

Hearing the sounds of his brother approaching matched with the sound of metal squeaking and scratching against metal, Sam called out.

"Dean what the hell are you-"

Sam stopped speaking, the ancient wheelchair coming into view just before Dean did and Sam watched as his brother angled it into the room.

"Okay so," Dean said as he struggled to make the wheelchair take a nuanced turn against Sam's bed. Unable to do so, he just kicked it until it settled against Sam's side of the mattress. Finished, Dean tried to put the brakes on the wheels but the hinges were rusted. He used his palms to slam the things home.

Sam snorted, skeptical, as he watched Dean fight with the reluctant, aged contraption.

Dean finished with a sense of accomplishment and, slightly out of breath, gave an expectant smile to his brother as he stood back up. Sam looked at Dean, giving him his patented "what-do-you-want-me-to-do-with-this" expression.

Dean's brows furrowed and gestured to the wheelchair's seat.

"Get in."

Sam snorted again.

"I'm not getting in that thing."

"Why not?"

"It looks like a medieval torture device," Sam quipped.

"It's a wheelchair!"

"-For the damned," Sam shot back. Dean bit back his smile but it flashed through his expression anyway before he resumed his role.

"Listen you can't stand up but you're fine otherwise. You just need to be in it for two seconds to get to the bathroom, Sam," Dean said reasonably.

Sam held Dean's gaze for a second, thinking it through. Silence filled the room, the rusted piece of metal standing between them.

"You're gross, Sam," Dean added pointedly, his sincerity tinged with humor. Sam's eyes flared but he battled his own small smile before sighing in defeat. He shook his head and waved his hand in surrender before looking at the jagged wheelchair again.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, looking for verbal confirmation.

"Yeah," Sam trailed off tiredly.

"Okay good," Dean replied absently, moving over to a shelf with blankets on it and grabbing one.

"What're you doing?"

"Well," Dean flipped open the blanket and draped it over the seat and seat back of the chair, "while this thing's not a torture device, I feel like it wants to give you tetanus."

Sam snickered his agreement and let Dean get on with it. When he was done the thing looked a lot less scary and more like an actual wheelchair, its sharp metal edges and dirty rails and handles covered by the woolly forest green blanket. Dean tried the brakes on the wheelchair just to gauge how much it'd move during the process of transferring Sam's weight from the bed to the chair. He deemed it safe enough before moving over to sit on the bed near Sam's waist. He pulled the sheets off his little brother with Sam's help and opened his arms.

"Okay c'mere," he murmured. Sam sighed and shuffled forward weakly, moving down on the bed and reaching for his brother when he got close enough. Dean leaned in and wrapped his arms under Sam's to get a good hold around his back.

"Okay good? Ready?" Dean asked, rubbing Sam's back in anticipation.

"Yeah," Sam mumbled.

"Okay - try this again on three. One, two," Sam tightened his grip around Dean, "-three," and Sam felt Dean lift him up a little bit to slide him across the mattress. He felt it when his body left the mattress and he gripped his brother harder. After a split-second he realized he'd stopped moving, hanging in the air between the mattress edge and chair seat.

"Sammy what if I dropped you like, right now," Dean asked teasingly. Sam writhed and squeezed Dean closer for fear his brother would follow through on the threat.

"God! Dean! Put me  _down_!" Sam yelled through gritted teeth, furious.

Sam could feel Dean's laughter against his chest before it sounded. Dean hitched Sam closer as a tacit sign that he intended nothing and resumed his little brother's transfer onto the chair seat.

Sam felt the seat under him and settled down. Dean withdrew, still chuckling as he bent down to jam the brakes up off the wheels.

"You're a... jerk, y'know that?" Sam said, slightly out of breath. Dean laughed and grinned up at his brother, his eyes sparkling with mischief before getting back up and getting behind the chair to wheel it back and out of the room.

"Yeah whatever bitch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	12. Hygiene Part II

As they wheeled into the bathroom, Sam squinted at the mirror.

"Sam's... funny... and a pig?" Sam read, unable to see the original message since the condensation had dripped and warped its content. He ducked his head down suddenly as Dean cuffed him from behind.

Sam snickered as Dean pulled him to a stop in front of the second sink and put the brakes on.

"All right," he murmured, stepping forward and grabbing a towel to wipe the mirror down. When he finished, he was still in the way of its reflection as he pulled a few items off the counter.

"Hey," Sam broke into a couple light coughs, "I need some water," he said sorely. Dean glanced back before turning and grabbing a small basin and handing it to Sam. Sam took it weakly along with the toothbrush and tooth paste Dean held out for him.

"Feeling okay?"

Sam nodded.

"Just a little dehydrated."

"Okay. Wash up. I'll go get you a glass," Dean replied casually, moving out of the way of the mirror's reflection.

When he left Sam felt free to stare at himself in the mirror. He couldn't even recognize his own face. Hollow and gaunt, with several days' stubble, dirty black hair sticking in clumps against his face, he looked... dead.

Jesus, no wonder Dean wanted to get him cleaned up... even if it meant putting him in a wheel chair.

Sam smelled his own breath and almost gagged. He bared his teeth in the mirror and couldn't move fast enough to shakily push the toothpaste onto the brush. This was going to be a weird exercise in breath management given that he hadn't had anything blocking his airway (except food, which he was meant to swallow anyway) for awhile. He vaguely wished Dean was with him to make sure nothing went wrong but he'd be right back, Sam assured himself.

He started brushing, carefully and slowly rocking the utensil against his front teeth and back, trying to get every angle even though the focused effort was taking a lot out of him. Eventually he had to switch hands, using his left to get the last of the plaque and stale taste out of his mouth. For a second he gagged, then decided he needed to spit anyway and used the basin.

At that, Dean returned.

"Here," he said lightly, putting the plastic cup of luke warm water in front of Sam's face. Sam breathed a thank you and took hold of it. It was a tentative grip though and Dean held on.

"You got it?" he asked, backtracking from the counter a little bit to look down. Sam coughed.

"Yeah," Sam murmured, gripping the thing tighter with his brother's prompting. Dean let go and Sam's hand dipped for a second, the full weight of the glass too heavy. Dean's reflexes shot out to grab the thing before it spilled.

"What the hell, dude," he bent down to level with his brother. Sam shook his head.

"Sorry," was all he could muster.

"Your strength's coming and going-"

"Yeah it's shifting like every few minutes. I swear I was fine brushing my teeth," Sam promised tiredly, starting to let his head hang low. He wasn't sleepy exactly, just... weak. It's like he was using the last of his reserves every time he made a concerted effort to do anything.

Sam felt Dean palm the back of his head comfortingly.

"Okay, it's okay," he whispered, "just stay like this for a sec," he squeezed the back of Sam's neck lightly just as Sam nodded before getting up. He felt Dean take the basin off his lap.

"Wait, I need to-" Sam didn't finish his sentence, the basin back in front of him and he managed to spit out residual toothpaste into it.

"Here," Dean murmured, placing the glass against Sam's lips and tilting it a fraction upwards. Sam felt the slow trickle of water come in before it stopped. He swished it around his mouth before spitting again.

"Good?"

Sam spit lamely and nodded, feeling the basin pull away from his lap. Dean took the toothbrush and toothpaste from his hands too. He heard his brother rustling around in front of him as he focused on his breath and getting his heart beat back to normal. The faucet turned on, then off and Sam felt Dean's hand on his head again.

"Kay, tilt your head back?" Dean asked and Sam tried, finding that Dean was actually just doing it for him. Sam blinked his eyes open for a second before feeling a warm wash cloth cover his face.

"Ah, Dean-" Sam sputtered, feeling the warm water trickle into his eyes and mouth.

"Shut up and just let me do this," Dean replied, pushing the cloth up against Sam's forehead and trailing it down his face, eventually down to his neck.

"I'm," Sam coughed, "not... five, Dean!" Sam protested again, but even though he'd raised his hands up to bat Dean away, his strength was gone and he just ended up clawing at air.

"Calm down," Dean said softly, cutting through Sam's griping. Sam let out a huff of annoyance, letting his brother finish what he'd started and eventually had to acknowledge that Dean was being pretty clinical. It didn't actually feel that weird; Dean wasn't acting like this was something he'd end up mocking him for.

"Turn your head to the side," Dean murmured and before Sam knew what he was doing, he'd twisted his head to let Dean scrub the side of his face along his hairline, his ear, and down more towards the back of his neck.

"Ugh," Dean murmured, looking at the once-white cloth. Sam tilted back to look up at his brother.

"What?"

"Nothing," Dean replied immediately with a small smile and Sam cringed inside knowing that Dean had been genuinely disgusted by whatever dirt, grime and dead skin he was pulling off him with that washcloth.

"Sorry," Sam muttered as Dean gently twisted his head to the other side to get his other ear.

"Don' worry 'bout it," Dean replied breezily, finishing up by scraping the cloth along and around Sam's neck. Sam swallowed nervously and Dean put a hand along the side of his head. "You're good, you're good, Sammy," he murmured and Sam closed his eyes, giving a feeble nod and sighing.

"I'm not strong enough..." Sam swallowed and looked longingly at the bathtub. Dean glanced to see where Sam was looking before unlatching the brakes on the wheelchair.

"Nah I'll get you there, bud," he said, getting up and turning the wheelchair around to face the toilet seat.

"Wha... What?" Sam asked, surprised, his eyes widening as Dean came up in front of him with his arms extended.

"All right on three we're gonna get you on the toilet seat-" He said, but stopped for a second as he glanced at the tub and moved to lean over and turn the faucet on again.

"Dean... what..." Sam said blankly, watching his brother testing the temperature before turning back to him.

"What?" Dean asked, looking at Sam as he extended his arms again. They both had to be louder with their voices now that the tub's faucet was running, echoing around the muggy, warmly-lit bathroom. "I'm not going to pull you into the tub from the wheelchair, Sammy," Dean guaranteed like that it was the dumbest idea ever.

"-You're not going to pull me into the tub at all, Dean," Sam argued, flustered. Dean made a face.

"What? Why?"

"...Because!" Sam retorted. Dean rolled his eyes.  _Here we go,_ he thought.

"Sam, c'mon, you're sick as a dog, you smell, and you're sweating and sloughing more dead skin than a fucking skinwalker."

"I... So?!" Sam scrambled, mortified.

"So it's fucking bath time, man! You're right here! C'mon!" Dean almost whined, gesturing to the bathtub which was filling up slowly, the water radiating tempting curls of smoke from its heat.

Sam looked at his brother pleadingly and Dean couldn't help chuckle. Sam really didn't want to rely on Dean to take a bath but Dean wouldn't have it. If this went on any longer Sam would end up getting sick off his poor level of hygiene alone.

"C'mon," he nodded, putting his arms out for Sam to take, "it's go time, let's go. C'mere," he gestured for Sam to come forward.

Sam's jaw set and he folded his arms across his chest, looking like he did when he was  _five years old_  and refusing a bath.

"No," Sam said levelly, fixing his brother a determined stare.

"Why not?!"

"You're not giving me a bath."

"I used to give you baths all the time, Sam!"

"When I was five!" Sam replied angrily and Dean mentally loaded his ammo. "I'm a grown ass man!" Sam finished and Dean aimed.

"-That can't even stand up on his own two feet!" Dean fired and the bullet sunk deep as he saw his brother's posture practically deflate then puff back up with indignant fury. Dean followed up, "You've been bedridden for days now, Sam, and you're in a fucking wheelchair. You need to get clean," Dean said sternly. After a second's pause, he added, "How the hell do you think other people in your situation take baths? They need help. And  _so do you_ ," Dean finished sharply, realizing this speech had gone on for a little longer than he'd anticipated; had turned into sounding somewhat vicious when that hadn't really been the plan.

But damn it, Sam seriously needed to get over himself and let Dean do his damn job.

Halfway through his little diatribe Sam had broken eye contact to stare at the toilet in front of him, his breath getting more irregular, his anger building as he listened to his older brother. When Dean had finished, Sam remained stock still, drilling his eyes into the wall and refusing to meet Dean's.

"Sam?!" Dean prompted, pissed, and suddenly Sam felt his eyes start to water. Was his brother really yelling at him to let him give him a bath? When the fuck did this warrant  _Dean's_ outrage? Dean wasn't the one suffering; Dean wasn't the one at his brother's mercy. Dean wasn't getting bullied to relinquish every ounce of autonomy he'd ever held dear much less to let go of any sense of privacy most normal, self-respecting adults practiced...

This was bull shit of the highest caliber. Sam glanced up at his brother, hate in every nuanced expression.

"No," he said, thinking it'd sound final but shocked to hear the tremble in his voice for that one single syllable. Hearing himself crack like that rattled him more than anything Dean had said; the fact that he was getting emotional about this instead of standing his ground more scary than anything. His resolve was crumbling and took an even worse turn as he watched his brother react. Dean's posture and expression softened into compassion and Sam felt his chest constrict, his heart breaking further and his own hatred and resentment turning into worry and fear. It was all he could do not to beg Dean to just let it go.

Dean sighed and moved to sit on the toilet seat in front of his little brother.

"Sam, Sammy, c'mon, man. This is not the end of the world, okay, bud?" He said, trying to coax the rational side of Sam's mind out to the forefront.

Seriously, Sam had to pull his head out of his ass: this really wasn't a big deal. Dean had been dying to get Sam clean, get him in some nice pajamas, help him feel better about himself. He knew Sam would be able to look in the mirror afterwards and see that he didn't actually look that bad. Even maybe passing as a healthy adult... when he wasn't in a wheel chair.

...But Dean couldn't do that - couldn't get Sam there - if Sam continued to angst all over himself in his own little self-deprecating bubble of sweat, tears, and smeared leftovers on his clothes and skin. Seriously the kid was  _so gross_...

Dean held himself a reasonable distance away from Sam as he thought about this. He'd learned long ago that thinking about this kind of stuff only evoked a natural revulsion that Dean really couldn't afford to express now that Sam was going all sappy sensitive on him. He needed to lighten the mood, maybe. Try to get Sam to laugh at his own dramatic perspective... if that was possible...

"Sammy," Dean started and saw his brother flinch in annoyance, making Dean let out a small huff of laughter, "Sam, c'mon you can't seriously think this is a big deal. Think about it-" Dean wheedled, trying to smile - trying to get  _Sam_  to smile.

"I am thinking about it, Dean, and the answer is no," Sam replied, sounding and looking much too much like the small child Dean always (kind of, sort of, totally) thought of him as. Dean couldn't help but snort with laughter at his brother's juvenile stubbornness... and it slowly leaked into genuine laughter about the very circumstance they were in.

"This is ridiculous, Sam, c'mon, dude," Dean said, smiling, but Sam's eyes flared. "Just let me give you a bath!" Dean laughed but Sam's cheeks went red. Whether it was out of anger or embarrassment, Dean couldn't tell. He suspected both though and  _really_  wanted to roll his eyes at it. He didn't though; he remained steadfast on the general light-hearted laughter he was  _trying_  to make infectious.

"No!" Sam shouted, not having any of it.

"C'mon," Dean leaned forward, grasping Sam under the armpits, still chuckling, "I'm so done with this conversation-"

"Dean, no, stop it!" Sam yelled back, hitting Dean back weakly. Dean stopped trying to actually pick Sam up and just started messing with where he knew Sam was ticklish, inwardly at his wit's end to try to get Sam to lighten up and laugh. Sam gave a feeble roar, writhing and huffing angrily, moving around in the chair, grunting with the effort of getting his brother off while Dean continued his goofy antics.

"Dean, stop! STOP!" Sam bellowed a second time, trying to drown out Dean's insensitive, grating laughter that just made him feel like Dean thought this was a joke and his sick, little cripple of a brother was the punchline. God, this was too much...

"Stop laughing Dean, it's not  _funny_!" He cried out loudly, his voice breaking into pieces, his body giving an unmistakable shudder and Sam suddenly realized with horror that he was genuinely and completely on the verge of tears.

Unable to battle his brother any longer, Sam just caved. He let go of getting his brother off him, slumping over to cover his face with his hands to try to get a hold of himself before totally breaking down.

He bitterly realized Dean had stopped and had pulled away. He vaguely felt Dean lean over towards the tub to turn the faucet off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	13. Hygiene Part III

Of all the fucking things Sam would have to go through, this was the worst.

He had become so reduced that he couldn't even take a fucking bath alone and his own callous, asshole of a brother was just laughing about the degradation like it didn't even matter. Like the fact that he couldn't even hold his own head up to wash it properly was no big deal. Everything that Sam was, especially his intense sense of independence and agency, was getting destroyed - fucking obliterated - by his own body's lack of faculty and Dean was just standing there treating it like it only served as comedy fodder... blackmail material... an additional means by which to denigrate him even though he was the only caretaker Sam had.

Didn't Dean  _get_  it? Didn't he understand how this experience was cutting Sam down on a deeper level than just physical incapacity? Didn't he get that without the strength and ability he'd grown up developing and utilizing to do their job, he felt utterly worthless?

And yeah he knew this was part of the trials. That in the end, if they get completed, it'd all be worth it but...

It was a big 'if.'

Kevin might literally come back and give them the third trial and Sam might not even be able to complete it. What if the trials were meant to be completed one after the other  _quickly_  so as not to allow the human body to deteriorate like his was now? What if they were too late already and  _none_  of this gets better?

Sam would die weak and frail and a failure in his big brother's fucking memory-foamed bed in this subterranean bunker  _lair_ no one knew existed, staring into Dean's eyes and communicating silently the truth and acknowledgement that these infirmities and his subsequent death had all been for fucking nothing.

Sam gulped and swallowed, leaning forward in the wheelchair to hide from Dean's scrutiny, trying to get his emotions in check. Fear, insecurity, desperation, and furious resentment that his brother wasn't taking this seriously all overwhelming his senses and pitching him overboard with no fucking lifeline. Dean was treating him and everything he was going through like it was the funniest thing ever but these trials were destroying him.

Sam cut off the sound of a sob but his body still jerked to it. It was subtle but Dean caught it and the next thing he knew Sam felt his brother's arm wrap around his back as he moved from the toilet seat to crouch down next to him.

"Sammy..." Dean whispered sympathetically, rubbing his little brother's back. His tone still sounded like he thought Sam was being unreasonable though, like Sam shouldn't be feeling like this. Just a more serious extension of why he'd been laughing in the first place.

Sam gasped and inhaled, fresh tears dripping off his face. At the sight of that, Dean huffed loudly, stopped rubbing his back to instead grip him tighter. He softly tugged Sam towards him and, while Sam kept his head ducked, he felt something break inside at his brother's gesture.

Sam gave up all pretense and slumped against the wheelchair and against Dean, letting Dean envelop him in his arms.

"It's... just..." Sam choked, trying to explain, then stopped, gasping another sob. Dean squeezed his trembling little brother.

"I know, Sammy. All right... I know, little brother, it's okay," Dean soothed and at his brother's calm, consoling tone Sam just finally let go. Getting his arms out from his lap to reach for Dean, his body sagged against his big brother, shaking with grief and worry and fear that he wasn't going to be able to deliver on anything when the time came.

Dean angled more towards Sam and let the kid cry, holding him steady. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy. We just gotta take things as they come, all right?" Dean promised quietly into the kid's ear.

Sam weakly grasped Dean's sides with his hands, wishing that the wheelchair's railing wasn't digging into his side as much as it was. This was an awkward hug but when you couldn't get out of a wheelchair on your own and you have a meltdown while your brother's trying to transition you to the toilet seat to eventually give you a fucking  _bath_ , concessions get made.

Despite the uncomfortable positioning it felt like Dean was holding him together and Sam slowly recovered, making sense of the scene before them and the plan laid out in front of him and gathering resolve that this would be okay while Dean just literally kept telling him it would be.

There was a brief pause in Dean's gentle reassurances, falling silent to listen to the sounds Sam was making to gauge how he was doing while continuing the back rub. Sam was coming back to him, small sniffs and controlled swallows indicating that the worst was coming to an end. Dean breathed calmly and leaned his head against Sam's.

"I... I could... y'know, knock you out," Dean offered, acting like it was a genuine compromise. He felt Sam chuckle under him and Dean breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"No," he croaked, his throat raw from tears, voice muffled against Dean's chest. He began to move away from Dean's embrace but kept his head bowed to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"You sure?" Dean pushed lightly, playfully, and Sam huffed in his arms.

"Yes," he replied, his voice crackly and wet.

"Okay," Dean grinned and pulled Sam against him again. Sam leaned into it, his head still bowed, and felt his brother push his hair off his forehead roughly to compensate for the quick kiss he gave him. Sam stared at his lap, feeling his brother's affectionate gesture and giving a wan smile as he sniffed and wiped his face more.

"We're gonna get through this, Sam. But it's a team effort, okay?" Dean started explaining to his still fragile little brother, holding him against the side of the wheelchair.

"F'it's a team effort why're you laughing at me," Sam sniffed, trying to make it sound like banter but failing in nearly every way. It was clear he was hurt by his brother's complete and utter disregard for him. Dean sighed above him.

"I wasn't laughing  _at_  you. I was laughing  _with_  you."

"Did you see me laughing?"

"Well whose fault is that?" Dean shot back and Sam could hear his brother smiling. Sam gave a skeptical chortle.

"That's..." Sam swallowed the last of his tears down and exhaled without any emotional tremor, "I don't think that's how that works, Dean."

"Well I was trying to get you to  _not_  cry," Dean whispered soothingly, his tone apologetic.

"Yeah," Sam sniffed and looked up. His face was red, his eyes watery but no longer tearing. "Good job with that," Sam said dully, delivering the sarcasm with dead-on accuracy.

Dean snorted.

"Yeah thanks," he replied, knowing Sam was regaining full composure. He withdrew from his brother carefully, got up from his crouched position and moved back to sit on the tub's rim. Sam remained quiet, waiting for Dean to fix even more of what had become such a disastrous endeavor.

"Listen, Sammy, obviously you don't have to do anything you don't want but... you need to clean up, man..." Dean gestured lamely to his brother. "...and I promise I won't laugh," he added, making Sam twitch a small smile to match rolling eyes. Sam sighed, shaking his head, still somewhat unwilling so Dean searched his mind for any other compelling argument.

"Look, hey, if the roles were reversed, I'd totally let you manhandle me into a tub if I'd gotten as gross as you are now," Dean lied. Fortunately, he lied really really well and Sam, God bless him, really really trusted him.

"Yeah right," Sam chuffed back quickly, rolling his eyes even further.

Okay, so maybe Sam was better at reading him than he thought.

"Shut up, I would," Dean tried but Sam just shook his head tiredly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean let him think until the silence felt oppressive. He tilted his head down to get a look at his brother.

"Sammy-?" Dean prompted, his expression open.

Sam sighed again and angled his bowed head to look at Dean, then beyond to the half-full tub behind him.

"Fine," Sam murmured.

"What?" Dean's eyes lit up.

"I said... Fine," Sam said a little more clearly and cringed when his brother clapped his hands together, grinning broadly.

"Yes!" Dean pointed at Sam with renewed enthusiasm and moved to get up and into position to transfer his little brother to the toilet seat.

"I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?" Sam said bleakly, his tone devoid of life but Dean just gave a low chuckle, acting like nothing had happened - like Sam hadn't just had a complete meltdown in front of him - and so Sam sighed for the millionth time as he reached for Dean.

"Nope. Do you even remember when I gave you baths as a kid?" Dean asked happily as he wrapped Sam in his arms and picked him up with no trouble at all. He turned them around and set Sam down on the seat.

Sam was actually slightly impressed at how easy that'd been.

"Not really," Sam lied, unwilling to give his brother the satisfaction.

"You always looked forward to it and passed out like immediately afterwards."

Sam made a face, watching his brother turn back to the tub and twist the water back on.

"I passed out?" Sam asked. Dean turned back.

"Well. Fell asleep," he corrected and made the gesture for Sam to lift his arms up.

"Why?" Sam asked, genuinely curious, unconsciously reaching his arms up but only getting about waist high before he started shaking. Before he tried harder Dean touched his hands lightly, tacitly indicating for him to keep them there before he moved over and reached for the bottom of Sam's t-shirt to peel it off from the back.

"You, uh... Well..." Dean stopped talking, wrestling Sam out of his shirt as he recalled the frustrating game Sam had developed and somehow locked onto for what had felt like ages when he'd been a kid.

Sam could practically  _hear_  his brother contemplating the past and when Dean got the neck of his t-shirt over his head, Sam looked up with squinted eyes, interpreting his brother's expression for what it was.

"What?" He nodded, on the brink of a smile, anticipating something good.

"You don't remember 'Prison'?"

Sam's brows furrowed and he shook his head. Dean held off on explaining, glancing over to the pile of towels on the counter and getting up to grab one. As he unfolded it, he resumed the story.

"You kept trying to escape from 'prison,'" Dean used air quotes while still holding the towel, "during bath time and guess what, in your idiot little brain, represented the prison? "

Sam started laughing.

"Really?"

Dean draped the towel over Sam's lap and murmured, "hold on to that," and Sam did.

"Yup. You'd escape like four or five times too 'cause you were so friggin slippery," Dean replied, injecting false frustration into the recollection and successfully amusing Sam further. "Lift," Dean asked lightly and Sam did, letting Dean pull his track pants and boxers off with the towel still covering him. "Anyway so after that you were always pretty tired," Dean finished the memory, landing his palms on Sam's knees. Grinning, he looked at Sam, "lucky for me you're too fucked up to play Prison right now, huh?"

Sam gave Dean a withering stare, unimpressed. Dean chuckled good-naturedly. Sam sighed and bit his lip, looking over at the tub.

"How's the water?"

Dean heaved a breath, leaning over to push his hand in and sweep waves across the surface. The warm water lapped innocently against the sparkling white porcelain.

"Really nice actually," he murmured, starting to think about taking his own bath after he'd finished up with Sam.

There was this one time while he'd been on a hunt in St. Cloud... It'd been like twenty below zero and nothing but grey scale light; dreary as all hell but... uhh...God, what was her name? Lacey or Lane...  _Elaine!_ Elaine had invited him up to her apartment and the bathroom setup was stunning and while Dean often hesitated on overly descriptive words,  _erotic_  was the most fitting one for that night - they even opened the window that was right above the tub afterwards because-

"-Dean?" Sam's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife, sinking the indulgent reminiscence like an anvil. Dean glanced up at his brother. Sam's eyebrow was raised high, his expression looking a lot like it did when Sam would say things like, "wow man, not the time."

"What?" He said defensively. Sam rolled his eyes and Dean wondered how the hell the kid could read his mind like that. He sighed as he got up, shifting a hundred percent back to the situation at hand.

"Okay so the towel's gonna fall off you at some point while we do this so don't freak out. Promise I won't look," Dean mumbled, making Sam laugh as he approached.

"Whatever dude," Sam acquiesced, letting Dean bend down and wrap his arms around his torso. Sam did his best to reciprocate, tightening his grip around Dean's shoulders.

"All right on three. One, two, and," Dean crouched a little lower, glancing back to the tub to make sure he was angled right for this, "three," and he lifted. Sam stayed pretty limp in his arms with the exception of tightening his grip more around Dean's shoulders. Dean for his part had this down to an art form by now. He swiveled around, hearing more than feeling the towel fall to the floor and felt Sam's legs hitting the rim of the tub as he started to lower him down ass-first.

"Y'okay?" Dean asked through gritted teeth. This was a little more difficult because eventually he'd have to use gravity to let his little brother detach.

"Yeah," Sam grunted breathlessly, and he felt Sam's legs start to scramble for purchase. Dean had gotten his hands and Sam's back wet with water but they were still way too high up for Dean to let go.

"Don't do that- Don't do that-  _Sam_!" Dean ordered urgently, feeling his grasp around his little brother slip before he was safely placed at the bottom of the tub.

Sam's writhing weight won out and even though he had been so close to landing in a perfectly controlled manner, Dean lost his grip and the rest of the kid's body splashed down against the tub.

"Sam!  _Sammy_!" Dean yelled, freaked out that Sam's head was now under water. He practically dived in to grab him and pull him up.

Sam's head came up under Dean's arms. He sputtered and blinked the water out of his eyes.

"Sam! You okay?! You good!?" Dean demanded roughly.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam coughed, feebly grasping at Dean's arms. "Don't," Sam coughed again, "do that again."

Dean gave a small smile and looked at the water level at Sam's neck.

"Yeah maybe we'll put you in before we start the water next time..." Dean murmured, regretting that he hadn't thought of that before.

"Good plan," Sam quipped comically before breaking into another cough, spurting more water out of his mouth as Dean held his head above surface.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	14. Hygiene Part IV

Sam sat up with some effort and hunched over bent knees. He scooped water from the tub to splash against his face. Meanwhile Dean was still kneeling on the floor next to him but he'd turned to grab the shampoo and the plastic cup that'd serve as a rinser. Sam gave a deep sigh, relaxing into the water and feeling considerably less compromised. He hadn't felt this uniformly warm for ages and it felt like heaven. He leaned forward lazily and rested his head on his knees facing the wall, absorbing the heat, letting his muscles loosen and relax. He wasn't above falling asleep like this. The sound of the water lapping against the sides of the tub was calming. Sam idly stared at bits of light reflecting off the wall and listened to the sound of his brother casually bustling around to get things set. Eventually he sensed Dean settle down next to him.

"Sam you okay?"

"Mm," Sam grunted tiredly and closed his eyes.

"Okay I'm gonna get your hair-"

Sam opened his eyes, his face screwing into confusion.

"What? Why?" Sam asked, his tone unexpectedly whiny... which was embarrassing but whatever.

In truth, he really just wanted to stay still, keep these small moments of comfort and peace going for as long as possible. He didn't want to be waited on or examined or clean. He wanted to stay simple now that he had it: curled in under hot, healing waters with nothing but the bath's tinny sounds and the knowledge of his brother's presence nearby. He neither needed nor wanted anything else.

Sam slowly lifted his head and turned it so he could rest them on his knees again, this time facing Dean. His eyes were slits; he was genuinely falling asleep and Dean bit his lip to keep from smiling. It came out looking like a smirk. Sam made a face back that failed - he was just way too sleepy to pull it off.

Dean sighed, letting his full smile slip, and answered his brother.

"Because you can't lift your hands all the way up right now, dude," Dean said calmly, tilting his head to match Sam's sideways vision. Dean came up closer against the rim of the tub and Sam self-consciously tightened his huddled posture. Dean gave his brother a look of amused sympathy before dipping the cup into the tub's water near Sam's back to fill it up. "You don't have to do anything - just stay like that and it'll be two minutes tops, okay?"

Sam sighed loudly and the acoustics picked up his quiet voice: "okay."

"Okay cool," Dean replied easily, sitting up straight over Sam, ready to pour the cup's contents over the back of his head. "Cover your eyes?"

Sam nodded and put his forearms against the top of his knees. He leaned his head down against them just as a slow cascade of warm water flushed through his hair from the back of his head. His body gave a twitch of surprise and he made an effort to react accordingly; this was literally just like when he'd been little and Dean had given him baths... so why in the world was he having a difficult time keeping the water out of his eyes and mouth?

Sam sputtered, feeling his hair turn into a wet curtain falling forward along his face. It made sounds around the bathroom even more tinny and hollow. Dean couldn't see his face anymore; his brown hair had turned black after getting wet, the strands draping over his arms and shoulders. Sam gave a shiver and held his breath when he felt his brother's hand land lightly against his back.

"Remember to breathe, Sam," he said, giving his words emphasis with a fleeting back rub that Sam suddenly -hilariously- realized he wanted more of, "You okay?" He murmured, his voice low and steady as he monitored his little brother.

"Yeah," Sam replied and tried to stifle a small cough. Dean rubbed his back again.

"Okay one more time," he whispered quickly just as he went ahead with another cup full of water. This time Sam was more prepared and he handled the flood of water over his head and face well. He heard Dean rolling his sleeves up higher as he sensed him come right up to the edge of the tub to lean over it. The sound of a cap snapping and his brother's lazily whispered, "okay," before he felt his brother palm shampoo onto the top of his head and work it in.

Okay.  _This_  was heaven.

Sam closed his eyes and couldn't help get lost in what was essentially a head and temple massage. This was fucking amazing.

Dean, for his part, could sense the exact moment Sam folded. It was somewhere between when Sam lost all tension in his back and shoulders - becoming a dead weight slumped over his own bent knees - and when Sam unconsciously started to lean up against the rim of the bath towards Dean.

Besides being half-way funny as shit and half-way fucking adorable, that latter move was a godsend because Dean was seriously bruising his ribs leaning over while trying to make sense of his little brother's hair which had developed a hell of a lot more knots and tangles than he'd initially thought.

"Dude your hair is like a... dead..." Dean messed with the tangles but only succeeded in generating more lather, "...rat..."

Dean pulled a knot to see if that would work and Sam, who was in the middle of a dull grunted reply, suddenly yelped out. Dean couldn't help his own guilty laughter.

"Sorry sorry...I'm sorry," Dean laughed, patting down Sam's hair nicely.

"You suck," Sam moaned, his face turned down and leaned to the side about two inches away from the porcelain rim. Even though Dean couldn't see Sam's expression, he knew his little brother was smiling too. This entire thing was just so ridiculous...

"You suck - do you use conditioner dude?" Dean asked quickly, trying to slip his genuine curiosity in with the playful insult so it wouldn't sound too girly. Seriously though he hadn't even thought to find conditioner; he'd literally never used conditioner himself but it occurred to him that Sam always did.

Dean always thought it was a flowery accessory Sam liked but if it was because he constantly needed to un-knot his hair in the shower Dean realized he'd maybe just finally figured out, after several  _years_ , that the stuff was a pretty practical call.

Sam huffed in response, leaving Dean to interpret.

"Seriously dude, I can't..." Dean tried to thread his fingers through Sam's hair like a brush and Sam cried out again.

"Dude! Stop," Sam laughed plaintively and Dean started laughing again himself as he pulled his hands from his little brother's hair, placed his palms up in front of him.

"I seriously  _seriously_  can't fix your hair right now, man," Dean said helplessly, chuckling at their circumstances. "Where's your fucking conditioner?" He asked, comically fed up with continuing without the product that he knew claimed a silky finish.  _Christ_.

"S'in the other bathroom," Sam replied tiredly.

"Okay be back in a sec."

In the period of Dean's absence, Sam wiped his face free of suds and languished, exhausted, in the bath. He idly noticed the waterline against the porcelain was leaving small layers of grime; he'd have to get out soon before he'd just be soaking in dirty water. Sam weakly reached up to touch his sudsy hair and breathed out heavily, knowing he still had a long way to go before Dean could rinse everything out before applying the conditioner and rinsing that out too.

He breathed out again and this time felt his heart skip a beat. He zeroed in on his breathing and made sure he'd be okay; tracking his heart, making sure it wouldn't happen again. A slow wave of heat rolled over him that wasn't related to the comfortable temperature of the surrounding water. Sam gave a low hum and focused on it, listened to the acoustics of his voice in the bathroom as he leaned down and laid his temple against the rounded, cool surface of the tub's rim. He felt like he was sinking; his muscles loosening to a greater extent than normal and he realized he was lapsing into a dangerous physical fatigue. He blinked and closed his eyes before taking a breath and trying to move his hand around in the water. It took a lot of effort - his body starting to overheat again - but he managed to sway his hand in the tub before giving up and tucking it against his stomach.

Okay.

This was wrong.

He was getting worse now and he was alone in a bathtub where if he lost much more strength he'd easily be able to slide under the surface without being able to come back up.

Sam needed Dean. Now.

Sam gathered all his energy and channeled it into extending both arms out and over the rim. If he lost all strength, the weight of his arms would hopefully counterbalance his body. At the same time, Sam called out to his brother.

"Dean!" He yelled, but it wasn't a yell; more like a strangled rasp. Sam coughed between huffs of breath, his own panic messing up his system's reserves. "Dean!" Sam yelled again, this time stronger. His head dangled down over the rim, cheek pressed up against the cold outside porcelain of the tub as he tried to focus, his chest heaving as it hunched uncomfortably over the bath's rim.

"Dean!" Sam yelled out one last time before he heard his brother's return call.

"Coming!" Dean shouted and Sam heard his brother running softly towards him in the hallway. All strength gone, Sam hung over the rim staring at the floor when the door banged open and slammed shut and Dean's demanding voice filling the empty humid air that'd been silent this whole time without his presence.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Dean asked and Sam heard what was probably the bottle of conditioner drop to the floor near him before Dean's hands got under his armpits to lift him up off the rim and dip him back more into the water. "Sam!" Dean said gruffly, pitching Sam backwards with an arm around his shoulders. Sam's head flopped back against his brother's elbow and he grimaced in pain as Dean's hand wiped leftover bangs and suds off his face.

"I... I don't know... I got weaker..." Sam whispered, trying to look anywhere but at Dean's worried expression in front of him.

"Okay but you're okay? No pain?" Dean gripped him securely, keeping his body in place in the tub, his head well above surface and angled towards him. Sam shook his head and swallowed.

"Yeah no I'm okay I just..."

"What?"

Sam closed his eyes, frustrated.

"Didn't want to slip," he whispered, defeated. Dean pursed his lips with sympathy as he held Sam.

"Yeah, okay," Dean replied, tightening his grip, "Well I got you now," Dean smiled and Sam nodded slightly, resigned to acknowledging the relief that came with those words.

Dean sighed and stared at a wall for two seconds while holding Sam still, coming up with a new plan.

"Okay, so..." he started, eventually rolling his eyes back to the little brother in his arms, "I think what we're gonna do is rinse you off and just get you out, all right?"

Sam nodded again and opened his eyes.

"Sure."

"Okay so I'm gonna roll you over to my other arm here, you ready?"

Sam grunted assent and Dean gently pulled Sam up and over his other arm so Sam was curled in around it.

"Just hold on - just hold on to me," Dean instructed carefully, wrapping his left arm around Sam's torso and letting Sam reach to grab his elbow and upper arm. "You good? Feel secure?" Dean checked, pulling Sam against the rim as much as possible to make sure he had a good hold on him so he wouldn't slip.

"Yeah," Sam coughed, leaning his head against Dean's shoulder tiredly.

"Okay no but you can't do that, dude," Dean chuckled, pushing Sam's head off. Sam just went with it and let it hang low over Dean's forearm. "Sorry man," Dean added before grabbing the cup from the side. Careful not to jostle Sam too much, he started pouring water over Sam's head again and again until the suds were gone. The knots and tangles were still very much in place but Dean just wanted Sam out of the tub; they'd get his hair later.

Finished, Dean set the cup down and evaluated Sam's health by asking, "Okay you still super weak?"

"Um," Sam moved around, holding onto Dean's arm still for leverage, "yeah..." He answered, a little out of breath.

"Okay uh..." Dean trailed off dumbly, "if I move you down towards the drain think you can still take the plug out?" He asked.

Sam snorted a laugh.

"Yeah."

Dean grinned and proceeded to slide Sam forward towards the faucet; Sam reached out with his hand and managed to remove the plug.

"Look at that. Teamwork," Dean said triumphantly, joking. He felt Sam's body give a couple small chuckles before Sam let his head fall against Dean's shoulder. It was obvious they were going to wait for the tub to drain so it'd be easier for Dean to pull him out. A few beats of silence passed with the two of them in an awkward embrace over the bath tub's rim. Neither of them really cared though; neither of them really wanted Sam to slide in and drown so this was a working solution. Dean appreciated solutions no matter how weird a picture it painted.

Sam sighed sadly.

"This is so miserable Dean," Sam shared, his voice dull. Dean exhaled loudly, nodding his head. He moved his free hand to rub his brother's curved back.

"Yeah it does," Dean agreed gently as he kept his brother braced and secure in the tub as the water drained. "It's gonna be okay though," he added resolutely, moving his hand up to Sam's wet head and leaving it there. Sam leaned in more, ducking his head further against Dean's chest, willing to accept the gesture because he was really starting to need it.

Dean felt so lame as he felt the deep sense of affection for his brother wash over him. They'd grown up so fast but if there was one thing that brought the two of them back to their childhoods - back to the simplicity and naivete of their younger selves - it was this most basic dynamic between them.

Dean gave a small huff and messed with Sam's already wet knotted hair, noticing the water had drained a decent amount. Sam took it as his cue to pull slightly away and he gave a couple shallow sniffs as Dean asked, "okay you about ready?"

Sam nodded weakly and Dean had to contort himself a bit to swivel around and grab a towel while still bracing Sam with his arm. He draped the towel over Sam's shoulders and started rubbing water off when Sam spoke up.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean replied blankly, more focused on getting Sam warm.

"What if these trials weren't meant to be done slowly?"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, noticing the water level was about an inch away from the bottom. He pulled the towel off Sam and weaved around to drop it under the arm bracing Sam so it'd fall into his lap. Sam sniffed and rearranged his position to dry himself off.

"I mean, like, what if - how sick I'm getting - what if it doesn't get better because the trials're supposed to be done faster."

Dean grabbed another towel and tilted his head to glance at Sam. He looked worried and stressed about this and Dean bit his tongue at the thought of trying to lighten the mood. Sam needed a serious answer.

Dean winced and dropped a second towel over Sam's back, the end of which he covered Sam's head with.

"We really can't go much faster than we have, Sammy," he mumbled, toweling Sam's hair with his hand. Sam was limp in his hold, still suffering from weakness, but he managed to keep his voice steady.

"Yeah I know. But what if this thing is a long-term byproduct of undergoing the trials, you know? Like if you wait too long to complete all of them, you're fucked."

Dean stopped and looked at Sam. Sam raised his eyes to his brother, depending on him.

"What so like 'you snooze you lose'?" Dean asked, skeptical. Sam gave a small shrug, still fixing Dean with wide, worried eyes. Dean shook his head, his whole demeanor shifting to dismissive judgment.

"No, man. That doesn't make any sense."

"Why?"

Dean thought on it for a second.

"Because the tablets were written eons ago. I mean... it's only because the technology and knowledge we have on our side right now - in this day and age - that we've been able to accomplish the first two trials so fast. God was around during biblical times, dude. Where you had to walk in the desert for seven years to get to a fuckin' watering hole-"

"-That's... not..."

"Shut up you know what I mean."

Sam remained silent, thinking.

"Well," he shrugged, "what if God wanted it to only be possible in this time period?"

Dean fixed Sam with a stare and raised his eyebrow, let Sam realize how far he was reaching with that rationale. After several moments of dead air between them, Dean finally piped up.

"I could just leave you in the tub here right now," Dean pointed out. Sam huffed an immediate laugh and shook his head. "You sure? You sure you don't want to keep playing devil's advocate on this?"

Sam smiled tipped his head down. Dean pulled a third towel out to add to the bundle already surrounding Sam in the tub.

"Okay I'm gonna get you onto the toilet seat. Can you put clothes on alone?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?" Dean asked openly.

"Yeah."

"Okay c'mere," Dean reached out to get a better hold around Sam's torso. As he lifted his huge little brother out and onto the toilet seat, he grunted, "y'know... when I said... 'devil's advocate,'?"

Sam huffed a yes, trying to gain his footing as Dean twisted and dragged him out.

"-Works on so many levels, right," Dean strained, landing Sam down on the seat. Sam managed a laugh as he hunched over on the seat, struggling to catch his breath after the transfer.

"Jerk," Sam rasped.

"Bitch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	15. Cold War Part I

Sam was wrong. He managed his boxers but he was so spent by that feat that the most he could do afterwards was get the neck of his white t-shirt past his head. He just stared at the bunched cotton around his neck, willing himself (or the t-shirt) to suddenly have the strength to get on him all the way. After a couple minutes of struggling with the sleeves, he rasped Dean's name and heard the answering knock on the door before it pushed open.

Sam looked up at his brother with comically sad eyes. Dean was alert; not yet all the way inside the bathroom - just leaning through the open door.

"Yeah?"

"I can't..." Sam trailed off, looking down at the t-shirt pointedly.

"Okay," Dean replied immediately. Sam heard Dean come into the bathroom all the way and shut the door behind him. A second later he felt Dean's hand reach his wrist and lift it up to go through one of the sleeves, then the other. Sam was set after that but years of practice left both of them accustomed to Dean finishing the job by pulling the bottom of the shirt down his torso to reach his waist with a few gentle tugs. "Good?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. Dean turned to grab the sweat pants from the sink counter and Sam shrugged inwardly about leaving the job of dressing the rest of the way up to Dean. He sighed and looked around the bathroom as Dean bent down in front of him to work on putting his feet through the legs.

"What time is it?" Sam asked suddenly, turning back to look down at his brother. Dean didn't look back up as he was working Sam's left foot through the tunnel of fabric.

"Uh... like maybe one or two AM?" He replied distractedly, turning to the other foot. "Why?"

Before Sam could answer, Dean spoke up again. "Hey you need socks?"

Sam frowned.

"No."

"You do - I forgot socks," Dean disagreed absently and Sam didn't care enough to argue. Dean pulled the sweat pants up to Sam's knees and left them there. "Can you finish while I go get 'em?"

"Sure yeah," Sam replied easily. Dean nodded and got up from his crouch, throwing an affectionate hand to Sam's down-turned head before leaving.

"Be right back," he said lightly and turned to leave.

After a series of tugs and pulls and a few small body jumps off the toilet lid, Sam got his sweat pants on. His boxers were uncomfortably bunched now but he figured he'd fix that situation once he'd gotten into bed or something.

Dean walked back in soon after, carrying thick socks along with a blanket. It threw it over Sam and got started on his socks before Sam could protest.

"It's colder out there," Dean muttered the explanation and Sam rolled his eyes lazily and subtly took the blanket off his shoulders to keep in his lap. Dean finished putting the socks on and looked up. "Okay, wheelchair time?" He said, more to warn Sam what he was doing as he stood up to wrap his arms around him and do the quick transfer onto the seat.

"You're getting too good at this," Sam coughed, then looked up at his brother with glassy eyes. Dean turned to grab the unused towels off the counter and put them onto a shelf for later use. "I think you might have a future career in hospice," Sam dead-panned, trying for easy banter.

Sam watched as his brother paused all movement for a second, then threw the towels at the shelf and avoided Sam's eyes as he walked behind the chair and grabbed the handles.

"Dean?" Sam queried, wondering what he'd said. The chair twisted back sharply to pivot towards the bathroom door. "Hey!" Sam called quickly, annoyed with Dean's handling as the chair shot forward, Sam in it, just before it reached the door. "Dean what-"

Dean leaned over Sam to open the door, shoving Sam down and to the side in his chair with his body.

"-the hell, man?" Sam finished, his voice muffled by his slumped posture. The door slammed open and Dean pushed Sam through it without another word.

As much as Sam wanted to get to the bottom of why Dean was suddenly an asshole, his brother had been right. The bathroom had heated up with the temperature of the water and the gust of normal, cool air in the rest of the bunker felt freezing cold. His wet hair quickly chilled his face and neck and he felt goosebumps starting to rise on his bare arms.

Unwilling to give Dean the satisfaction now that he was acting like a tool, Sam simply gripped the blanket in his lap tightly, willing his body to adjust before Dean could sense anything off. The priority was dispelling Dean's pissy attitude, not Sam's perfectly healthy and normal reaction to regular room temperature.

The wheelchair rolled quickly down the hallway, one of the broken wheels squeaking and bumping Sam up and down continually at every rotation. It was uncomfortable and Sam was having a hard time denying his need to shiver.

"Uh... Dean?" Sam queried in an undertone, clearly communicating that he thought Dean was a few screws loose.

"What?" Dean replied quickly, his voice severe, still wheeling Sam down the hallway with angry determination. Sam made a face as a chill ran up his spine. He tried to quell the shivers but failed miserably just as they reached the threshold of Dean's room. The wheelchair stopped fully.

"My room or yours?" Dean asked harshly.

Sam unconsciously gripped the blanket tighter at the question.

"What?" Sam asked unsteadily. A few drops of water streamed down Sam's neck and under the back of his shirt, sparking another chill to rush through him. Sam heard Dean let out an annoyed huff as he came up around to the side of the chair and snatched the blanket from his brother's grip.

"God damn it, Sam," Dean said, flipping the blanket out sharply. Sam watched his brother with trepidation, not sure what was going on. Dean stayed aloof, unwilling to meet Sam's gaze. Dean roughly pushed Sam's back down so he'd lean forward in the chair and draped the blanket around his back.

"Ow - Dean?" Sam asked, his voice weak with insecurity, before getting shoved back against the seat so Dean could wrap the thing so tightly around him that his arms stuck to his chest. Sam tried to get eye contact with his brother but Dean didn't look anywhere but the blanket, obviously only willing to complete the task of warming Sam without any of the normal care he'd always taken.

Dean stood up, turned away from his brother for a few seconds before finally turning around to look Sam in the eye.

"Seriously, your room or mine. Your choice, Sam," Dean said, his whole demeanor having changed: brightness in his expression and voice. Sam looked at him warily. This was like... a test or a trap or something.

"I... what? Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why're you giving me a choice?"

Dean shrugged and looked down the hall to Sam's bedroom.

"I don't know. You might be more comfortable in your own room is all," he said, continuing this breezy attitude. He looked back to Sam. "I'm cool with it if you want to go back. I'll still be around. It's not a big deal."

Sam thought about it. For all intents and purposes, Dean seemed to be coming off as completely honest. The mood swing was jarring but maybe Dean had just resolved something in his head. It happened sometimes for everyone. Maybe Dean had settled out with the concept that Sam could have this independence - a sense of privacy too - despite his illness.

Sam grasped the folds of the blanket and looked down at the ground, thinking about whether to take the offer. Intellectually, if Dean thought he could handle being alone then he should take that, right? If there was one thing Sam always yearned for it was his brother's blessing that he could manage on his own.

He glanced into his brother's room, warm with lamp light and cozy with so many blankets strewn around, decorated well with pictures of their family and his most prized weapons. Those were the weapons that'd saved theirs' and others' lives from pure evil since their childhoods... and Sam's history was wrapped in with Dean's so closely that nothing in this room came off as unfamiliar. Sam had lived with scraps and pieces of all these things showing up in the motels with Dean at one point or another. In fact Sam honestly regarded them all as jointly owned.

Sam wanted to stay with Dean... in Dean's room... with all their stuff and with his brother in easy reach should something go wrong. Sam was constantly scared... constantly worried he wouldn't be able to do this... Constantly trying to come to terms with the fact that he will likely die even if he manages to complete the third trial.

Then again, Dean had never given him this option before. He wouldn't be giving it to Sam if, deep down, he wanted Sam to take it.

Solidly conflicted, Sam shrugged to look at Dean.

"I... don't know."

Dean nodded with an approving frown.

"Okay," he said, moving around behind Sam to grab the handles, "I think you should go to your room," he said lightly as he started pushing the wheelchair past his door and down towards Sam's. Despite Dean's airy tone at the decision, Sam's heart dropped with a dull thud, realizing too late that something was still wrong. The phrase 'you should go to your room' hearkened back to his childhood just as much as everything else had with his brother since this had all started and it never meant resolution. It was embarrassing how that childhood phrase could evoke such desperation  _against_  going to his room. Sam psychologically stomped that sentiment into the ground as Dean wheeled him down.

Sam was uneasy when they got there and he swallowed nervously as the wheelchair tripped into his room, lit with bright military-style white light. He'd forgotten how bare his room was but tried to take it in stride as Dean jammed the rusty brakes home once the chair was settled at the side of his bed.

Sam knew Dean couldn't just leave him there - he'd have to get Sam set up and comfortable in this room - so there'd be plenty of time to goad Dean into airing his grudge. Then they'd be able to hash it out and go back to Dean's room... maybe. Hopefully.

"So..." Sam started, watching Dean as his brother pulled more blankets out of a closet to drape over his bed. He flipped them out, a pleasantly neutral expression on his face, acting as though he hadn't heard Sam at all.

"What's... up with the change?"

"Oh I don't know," Dean replied easily, crawling onto the bed for a second to pull the covers open where he was going to place Sam. "Just thought you'd like a change of scenery," he finished gruffly, getting off the bed and coming up to Sam. "Okay ready?" He asked, reaching his hands out and Sam automatically mimicked the move.

Dean then transferred him to the bed fast - faster than he'd ever done before and without - and wow, Sam felt  _so_  weird about acknowledging this - but without hugging him. Dean got Sam out and over perfectly fine by gripping him under the arms and lifting him from the chair to the bed without any need to bring him closer... unlike every other time he'd gotten him from A to B when he'd been too weak.

Sam hadn't even known that Dean could've done that...

"Okay you good?" Dean asked, pulling the blankets up over Sam's body and Sam nodded mutely. "'kay I'll be right back," Dean replied simply and took off down the hall.

Sam bit his lip, hearing Dean's casual, almost cheerful pace disappear down the hall. Okay, so Sam wasn't an idiot. He knew his joke had referenced hospice care and Dean was pissed about that but it was only meant to be a joke. Dean was blowing things way out of proportion.

Sam sighed, annoyed. For all the shit Dean gave him about being a drama queen, Dean could be the most passive aggressive bitch sometimes.

Dean came back a few minutes later to a seething little brother that felt like beating Dean at his own game. Dean quirked his eyebrows at Sam's new attitude but quickly regained careful nonchalance as he moved over to sit in the wheelchair Sam had vacated to show him what he'd brought. Sam looked down at the walkie-talkie Dean held out to him.

"All right. Channel six. I've got the other one. You need anything, you call. Got it?" Dean said, his voice a mixture of the practical tone he used on hunts and the fake airy one he'd been using.

Sam's jaw jutted out in anger as he took the hand-held radio. He didn't look at Dean as he switched it on and dialed the channel to six.

"Got it," Sam replied as if he was meeting a challenge... which he very well knew he was.

"Good," Dean said, standing up. He surveyed the room. "Need anything right now?" He asked.

"No," Sam replied quickly, plastering a spiteful smile at Dean, then tipping the radio up to Dean. "I'll call you if I do."

Dean looked away to stare at his own and nodded slowly.

"Great," he replied, but it wasn't, and his voice made it clear. But it was too late to back down now so without a backwards glance Dean simply left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	16. Cold War Part II

This literally had to be one of the dumbest ideas Dean had ever come up with. Throwing Sam into his own room when the kid was obviously not up to it was a fucking unbelievable move on his part and as Dean threw a few blankets down in the hallway and went back to get his pillow, he kept up the litany of calling himself a complete asshole running through his head.

Thing was, he'd fucking had enough of Sam's bullshit about death and dying and hospice care and all these ridiculous, offensive, insanely depressing theories that painted the picture of Sam's inevitable death instead of the determined resolve to survive that he'd seen in his brother before all this started. Dean needed Sam to get that back because otherwise all this shit was a foregone conclusion and he'd lose his brother to the kid's absolutely fucked up penchant for accepting death too soon.

Dean swore at his brother in his head for that particular trait: he'd never taught nor modeled that particular aspect of Sam's personality. To a certain extent he figured he could blame their father. While the man had normally valued his life during regular hunts, when it came to Azazel all bets were off and it had always been clear to his sons growing up that John'd been willing to give up the ghost as long as he could see that demon put down first. Just because he sacrificed himself for Dean instead didn't change the sanction the man had set: the inadvertent blessing he'd given if either of them decided to follow in his footsteps and resolve to die to end an evil.

Dean knew both of them had made peace with the memory of their father. However, where Dean had managed to take a step back and recognize his father's faulty teachings without resentment, Sam had managed to rationalize them - even maybe embrace some of them - in order to settle out.

Dean unconsciously shook his head, not sure if he was more disappointed by their father or Sam. In truth, it didn't really matter where Sam's train of thought was coming from - only that it needed to get derailed. Fast.

So this - this idiotic plan of his - was to give Sam exactly what he wanted.

If Sam really wanted to frame this shit like he was dying and not surviving, Dean was gonna give him the full package. Sam wants to "die with dignity"? He can get the fuck out of Dean's room and keep his pedestal-ed privacy and so-called "independence" in his own room alone. If Sam wanted to equate Dean to hospice care, Dean'll damn well play the part and let Sam feel exactly what it's like to have an indifferent, blithely pleasant caretaker at his beck and call.

Dean took a second to pull himself together after grabbing a couple pillows. He stared, unseeing, at his bed, rage and resentment roiling as he replayed Sam's opening line of banter back in the bathroom. He knew it was supposed to be a joke but it just happened to be the last straw. Sam had been pitching his insecurities like baseballs one after another after another and Dean thought he'd been knocking them out of the park. However much Sam was scared and worried, Dean thought his presence had been helping - snapping him out of it.

Instead, Sam had apparently just decided to extend his bullshit doubts over everything else including Dean's care for him. It was frankly insulting, that he'd cast Dean's efforts as something so trite as an impersonal follow-through of protocol. Like Dean was obligated by some other force than his own need to have Sam safe and healthy.

Dean was taking care of  _Sam_  and Sam only - would only  _ever_  take care of Sam. There was no one else on his priority list like this. For Sam to take that and warp it so he could take it for granted was just too fucking much.

Fuck Sam.

Dean pursed his lips and closed his eyes before sighing with resolve. He brought the pillows out to the stupid nest he'd made for himself about two feet from the threshold of Sam's door. The walls were thick: if Sam called him for something the kid wouldn't hear feedback or his own voice doubling up from Dean's radio. Inwardly Dean hoped this ploy of his wouldn't last long: he was gonna miss his mattress.

...

Sam felt cold. Normally Dean would be sitting next to him. Plus the barren aesthetic of his room made the mental connection to an arctic tundra all to easy to reach.

Seriously what the hell was wrong with him? Why hadn't he done something with the walls yet? He could've at least thrown a map up there or something...

Sam rubbed his face, noticed his frigid fingers, and tucked them under his armpits.

"Change of scenery, my ass," Sam muttered bitterly as a small shiver shot down his spine. He figured the chill was just a normal result of the temperature change from the bathroom and his still-wet hair. He tugged the blankets up higher, rolling his own eyes at the punch of loss he felt when he realized that Dean normally did this. He'd have to twist and turn to get the blankets to wrap around him closer without Dean there to get them that way...

 _What the fuck, dude_ , Sam thought, rolling his eyes with ridicule for missing Dean already.

Unsure what to do now that Dean wasn't his primary form of... entertainment... Sam eyed the stack of books to the side of his bed. He read the titles on the bindings, inwardly dismissing each as he went down the list. They were all heavy tomes of lore, myth and legend that held much too much relevance to their work. Literally nothing in there that'd put him to sleep.

Sam wasn't really tired now anyway though. Not with Dean's new attitude and the shift to his bedroom. It felt like he was getting  _punished_  but that was too weird... or maybe just too embarrassing... to admit.

Sam always felt guilty for being a burden to his brother. He was sick as all hell, he'd practically overtaken his brother's bedroom, needed round-the-clock supervision to eat or take meds on time and he bothered Dean too much with his own doubts and fears about how things would pan out.

Giving him his own space was a good call for both of them, objectively speaking. Sam could deal with this on his own and Dean would be free to do whatever he wanted to do when Sam didn't need him.

Only problem was that the pit in his stomach wasn't going away with these rationalizations. Dean was pulling away from him and deep down Sam knew that it'd been something he'd said - or been saying - to push him.

Sam was now sequestered in his own room and had been instructed to only call on his brother when he was needed. These new boundaries were... well, if they kept it up, they were going to leave Sam gutted and resigned to his fate.

Sam reasoned he'd been en route to that eventuality anyway though - had been trying his best to come to terms with it. What hadn't occurred to him was that he was going to have to do it alone now.

He could, though, he assured himself. What was that saying?  _Every man dies alone_. Sam should have realized earlier than this that it was  _his_  task to reconcile his life with death; no one else's. Dean would never have been able to hold his hand through this even if they  _weren't_  setting these new boundaries.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted when his stomach made a noticeable rumble.

Following protocol, Sam reached for the walkie-talkie he'd set on the bedside table.

"Dean?"

Sam pressed the button to listen for a response. A quick crackle came on followed by his brother's reply.

"Yeah?"

Dean sounded relaxed but responsive. Kind of like how construction crews responded to one another using radios. Just business as usual.

"Um. I'm hungry," Sam replied plainly, idly wishing he didn't have to even ask his brother for anything more than he'd already given. He vaguely wished he had the strength to just give up asking for anything that'd keep him alive.

"Great. What do you want?"

Sam bristled. He didn't care anymore. Dean shouldn't ask for specifics like Sam was ordering from a diner. He pressed the button.

"I don't know, Dean. What've we got?" He asked with an edge.

"Everything. Let me know when you figure it out," Dean replied back quickly, his tone friendly but dismissive.

Anger flared in Sam and he jutted his chin out, huffing his next response.

"Dean will you just get in here?"

Sam waited for the answer. It came after a long, torturous pause that only further incensed him. The radio crackled and Dean's voice came out smooth.

"Sure. On my way."

...

Dean licked his lips, a guilty smile slowly forming as he flipped one of the old school pin-up mags he'd found in the bunker closed and took his time getting up from his spot on the floor.

As furious as he was, he was never above finding amusement in pissing off his little brother.

...

After like five, maybe ten minutes of waiting, Dean knocked on Sam's door. Sam didn't say anything, assuming Dean would just bust in like he always did.

He didn't.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Come in," Sam shouted, annoyed.

Dean opened the door and took a step inside. He stopped there, kept the door open and leaned against the jamb.

"You figure out what you want?" Dean asked, folding his arms against his chest casually, nonchalant. Sam stared daggers at him. Acting like a waiter taking an order was quite possibly the most infuriating thing Dean had ever done to him given their current circumstances.

"Grilled ham and cheese," Sam gritted out, unconsciously gripping the blankets in his hand tighter as another chill shook through him. It was tremendous effort but Sam crushed any outward physical indication.

"Okay," Dean replied happily and without one word more, practically skipped out of the room and shut the door, leaving Sam alone once again.

Sam just kept staring at where Dean had been, his jaw clenching with anger.

"Fuck you, Dean," he whispered vehemently, and reached to grab one of his books to get his mind off his complete asshole of a brother.

...

Dean closed the door and made his way to the kitchen at a fast clip. Grilled ham and cheese he'd done before - could do it fast - and he sure as hell  _would_  before Sam's attitude got lost in fatigue or anything else that might dull his hunger.

Shit, if he'd known this would bolster an appetite in his little brother he'd have pissed him off way more all along.

Dean got the stove top going and slammed the frying pan on there before landing two slap-dashed buttered pieces of bread on top. He pulled out strips of Swiss, layers of ham, moved the pieces around to get shit going and in the blink of an eye finished the order.

Dean noticed his hands were shaking when he pushed the slices off onto a plate and set it on their usual meal tray. He almost knocked the glass of milk off the counter when he'd been pouring. Quick reflexes served him well as he saved the thing from shattering to the ground and added it to the meal. He practically ran to throw the milk carton in the fridge before pulling the tray off the counter to rush back.

The haste was no doubt unconscious fear brinking awareness in him that if anything happened to Sam not only would Dean be at fault but it'd be happening in the midst of Dean's bullshit ploy to make a bullshit point. Dean did his best to outrun the surfacing of these consequences, his steps quickening while still keeping the milk steady on the tray.  _It wasn't a bullshit point_ , he insisted to himself. He knew how to play Sam - had been doing it since the kid had the wherewithal to  _get_  played. This would work, damn it.

He took a deep breath as he got to Sam's door, shoring up his worries and further settling back into his admittedly fucked up clinical persona of cheerful indifference. He walked in to find his little brother safe and sound in bed.

Sam pulled his eyes away from the two-paragraph excerpt of the book he'd been reading and rereading this whole time because he kept getting distracted by thoughts of how much he hated his brother.

He sighed with frustration when Dean walked in with the tray like he hadn't a care in the world. Fuck Dean.

"Thank you," Sam said, much too polite for Dean's tastes he knew.

Dean bit back his usual retort when Sam got sickening with his Emily Post bullshit.

"No problem," he replied neutrally, setting the tray down on Sam's lap. "You got it?"

Sam swallowed and nodded, pulling himself up further in bed to grasp at the handles. Ordinarily Dean would've set the tray on the table and pulled Sam up.

Dean inwardly cringed and fought against the urge to do it this time.

"Yeah," Sam murmured, grasping the tray's handles tightly. Concern flashed through Dean's expression at the sight of Sam's shaking white hands but Sam didn't see and the kid balanced the tray properly in his lap. Dean swallowed his anxiety and let it go.

"Great. Need anything else?"

Sam was looking down at the food when he sniffed and replied.

"No."

"Cool," Dean murmured, turning around and stepping it up to get to the door, his heart racing. He had to leave fast because all he wanted to do was stay.  
Sam's wet hair was still a mess. The kid's back was pressed against the headboard wood instead of pillows. His posture was slumped so much Dean wasn't sure the food would go down smooth. The light was too bright if Sam wanted to sleep afterwards. Dean also hadn't added the memory foam to Sam's bed yet, thinking he'd just get around to it eventually after the defcon 5 status he'd been laboring under had lowered. Instead he just had to deal with knowing Sam was sleeping on his usual piece of shit mattress that hadn't been turned down since the nineteen-fucking-fifties. The kid was cold but hadn't asked for any more blankets and to top it all off, his room was so blank and devoid even  _Dean_  felt a spasm of need for some interior design homes-and-gardens-type shit.

Not even for aesthetic appeal, really... But at least Dean's room had  _stuff_.

Dean's room had  _reasons_  - had mementos and tools and even mysteries in it that had yet to be explored. When they'd gone through the Men of Letters archived artifacts, Dean had just  _taken shit_  he thought looked interesting to keep in his room for later scrutiny. It was pride in the past, a recognition of the present, and an assumption for the future. Sam could look around and find all this random crap to think about on every layer of time that existed... but here? Four walls and an uncomfortable bed and stacks of books that may or may not hold relevant information about the gates of hell.

Jesus Christ, Sam.

Dean had all this running through his head before he'd even reached the door. Battling to stick with it, he got there fine and reached for the knob.

"...Dean?" Sam called, just as Dean was about to leave. He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Yeah?" He said quickly, somehow managing to keep the facade up even though it'd just registered that Sam's voice had been small, almost plaintive.

"Seriously. Thank you," Sam said softly, thoroughly genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	17. Cold War Part III

"Seriously. Thank you," Sam said softly, thoroughly genuine.

The unfathomable gratitude in his brother's tone fed the embers of fury in his older brother. Sam was a self-entitled pain in the ass that refused to take no for an answer, not a frail, self-effacing piece of shit with a martyr complex. Dean was just  _pissed_  right now,  _not_  signing off on Sam's death by imposing physical and emotional distance... and because Sam's condition was just temporary damn fucking  _straight_  Dean could afford the time and energy to be an ass to his brother. Just like always.

Because Sam was not dying. Not any time soon. Not on his watch.

Sam shouldn't have thanked him unless it was a disingenuous snipe. Dean would've been able to handle that because  _that_  was his brother.  _That_  was Sam acting on all four cylinders: fighting, getting digs in at Dean like he was going to live long enough to apologize for them later.

And Dean knew exactly where to hit if he wanted to get Sam going. He'd have to pull back the curtain a little earlier than he'd have liked but then again maybe not. Sam was either in full recovery ( _Dear God, please_ , Dean thought) or Dean was pressing the window of opportunity to have this out with the kid without triaging any new symptoms of his at the same time. Now was as good of a time as any... and, really, the sooner the better.

Dean turned to look at Sam for a second, nearly snarling his reply.

"Hey it's my  _job_ , right?" he said bitingly and moved to slam the door behind him.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, sounding ticked off.

 _Good_ , Dean thought roughly before stopping and turning back around to face his brother _._

"What?" Dean shot back, locking his eyes on Sam's. Dean fought hard not to smirk. Oh yeah. Sam was pissed.

Sam wished dearly he stand up - get right up in Dean's face for all this shit. Instead he had to remain in bed, the tray of cooling grilled cheese on the tray in his lap, looking for all the world like death warmed over - a full on zombie given his wet, tangled hair and gaunt face. Sam was sure Dean would be laughing at his expense right now if he wasn't returning the fire in Sam's eyes with his own.

Sam always lost their staring contests though. He had to break. He looked around the room helplessly, gestured to the tray Dean had brought him, and finally looked up at Dean, desperation starting to mingle in with his frustration and anger.

"What the hell, man? I'm sorry I made the stupid joke about hospice care thing, okay? But-"

"That's not the point, Sam," Dean spat.

"Well what  _is_  the fucking point then because I don't know how to fix this otherwise. It's like you're fighting with air right now and I have no idea-"

"No idea how to what, huh? How to settle out with me?" Dean interrupted, pissed. "You want to die knowing we're cool, Sam?"

"Yes!" Sam shouted, exasperated. Dean glared at his brother, silently promising that wasn't going to happen. "Christ, Dean, we're almost there for God's sakes. Don't you  _get_  it?!" Sam finished, his cheeks flushed even though the rest of him was practically freezing.

Dean studied his brother for a second, then clapped his hands and opened them out to his brother's place on the bed theatrically.

"Yeah you know what? I get it now, actually," he said, plastering a fake smile onto his face, his gestures taking on a sarcastically charismatic appeal. "We're good, Sam. Totally good," Dean cut the air wide with his palm. "No problems. Nothing."

"Oh Jesus. Seriously?" Sam started, disgusted, "Don't give me that shit it's such-"

"-No really, Sam. You just keep on with what you're doing - just give me a call when you need anything. I'll let you know if Kevin comes by with the third trial," Dean paused, exaggerating the second thought that occurred to him, "Oh - that is, if you're even still alive - because God knows you're all set to go right now, right?" Dean asked, vitriol splicing through every word.

"Dean-" Sam tried weakly, suddenly too shaken to get out much more. Dean's flippancy towards his death paired with the acid on his tongue crumbled Sam's defenses... Dean wouldn't - couldn't possibly - hate him for dying. It was out of his control. Neither of them knew-

"Yeah," Dean kept his stare but nodded along with his own thoughts. He huffed, licked his lips and changed directions with his head to shake it ruefully. "That's you, isn't it?" Dean tilted forward, unconsciously moving like he was getting under Sam's skin just as much as he knew his words were. "Just gonna go quietly into the night, aren't you?" He finished softly, his repulsion sliding out smooth.

Sam's head was spinning. No - No he didn't  _want_ to die but if-

"Sam!" Dean yelled, making him flinch.

"No," Sam replied carefully, his voice so controlled that it fell flat.

It sure as hell didn't sound like resolve to Dean. Wrong answer, Sam.

"Mm... No," Dean repeated, dragging Sam's monosyllabic answer out disdainfully. "You sure about that?" He challenged.

"Y-yes," Sam stuttered, feeling like Dean was ripping this out of him, making him feel like shit for truly not knowing any of the answers. Dean didn't fucking know them either so why the hell was he demanding Sam to respond with answers both of them knew they could only hope for?

Dean just sneered.

"Really?" Dean asked skeptically, then steamrolled past giving Sam the chance to answer, "I mean, hell. You're so ready..." Dean paused, looking around the room, then back to Sam with squinted eyes. "Do you even  _want_  me around? I could just step away altogether. Let you die in peace, right? You've got my blessing now. We're fine.  _Right_?" Dean dug into Sam deeper, threatening boundaries for Sam worse than he'd already imposed.

Sam felt his eyes start to water, the pierce in his sinuses before full-fledged tears. He had to look down at his food before Dean could see. He bit down hard on his lip as he inhaled a shaky breath. Another chill blew through him.

 _Damn it, snap out of it_ , Dean thought desperately,  _fight back_!

"Do you even  _want_  to complete the third trial, Sam?" Dean whispered cuttingly and waited for Sam's answer. He didn't miss the tear that fell from Sam's face onto the tray. Fuck.

" _Yes_ ," Sam whispered at the tray. A knot had formed in Sam's throat, suspending the ability to say anything steadily at a normal tone.

"What? I didn't quite hear you!" Dean yelled.

" _Yes!_ " Sam cried back, his voice shattered. He gasped tears back but he stared right back at his brother, puffy, smudged eyes slit with hate.

"Good. Well that's great," Dean offered snidely, "But then  _after_... You're gonna die. Is that it?"

" _I don't know!_ " Sam shouted, red-faced, cheeks glistening with tears.

"Well shit," Dean paused, "s'it gonna happen before or after the last trial, Sam? I'm just asking because you're prepping like you know and so it'd  _really_  help me out," Dean pressed, his voice dripping with contempt, his anger boiling into something more - something that needed a fucking target. "You know, seeing as I'll be able to finally rip off the-" Dean unconsciously took a breath, " _god damn_   ** _burden_**  of  ** _hospice care_** , right?" he screamed. Dean had balled his hands into fists awhile ago but it wasn't enough. He whipped around for something to punch, found the wall, and slammed into it at every emphasized word: "-For my  _poor_ , fucking  _useless_  piece of  _shit_   _little brother_!" Dean shouted, scattering paint and bruising plasterboard, eyes bright with rage. Sam flinched at every hit and couldn't keep it together when Dean finished his last two words.

Covering his face with both hands, Sam broke. His whole body felt frozen yet it was nothing compared to what Dean had said.

Dean stood there, seething, staring at the beaten wall and listening to Sam's desolate sobs behind him.

The two of them remained there for awhile, not saying anything to each other. The room's ventilation seemed to roar loudly in the midst of the dead silence. At least Dean knew the heat was working; on full blast, in fact.

It took maybe a few seconds to regain control and Dean stood there disgusted with himself, anger draining and regret surfacing.

He'd seriously just flown off the handle over the kid's condition like it was his fault when none of it was. All right and reason said that  _Dean_  should be in Sam's place.  _Dean_  should've been the one to undergo everything here and it was fucking unfair  _bullshit_ that he wasn't.

Bile churned in his stomach and Dean had to bend at the waist slightly to stop himself from almost throwing up. He put his hands against the same wall he'd hit to steady himself.

Sam could barely see, his vision blurry from tears and though he desperately wanted to shout back at his brother, he was too exhausted, too cold and too destroyed to get anything coherent out.

Eventually, Dean let out an audible sigh. He wanted to acknowledge his mistakes right now but was too raw to actually do it. His ultimate point had been a good one though, he still thought.

"Listen Sam," he said to the wall, knowing his brother would hear him, "You either live like you want to live or live like you want to die. S'up to you. I'll be on the radio," he finished quietly. Sam swallowed and gasped, trying to get it together enough to respond before Dean left but Dean simply opened the door and walked out, shutting the door gently behind him.

The cold seeping through Sam's shuddering frame had been the last thing on either of their minds.

Shaking, Sam managed to get the tray off him and onto the bedside table. His appetite gone, he pulled the blankets up and over his head as he tried to settle down into silent tears and a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	18. Cold War Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning on torture. I hate torture, much less writing it, but sometimes it just pushes things to the next level... which is where I wanted to go...

Dean washed a hand down his face, exhausted. He checked his watch: 6:40 AM. He honestly wasn't sure what the hell he was doing or why he was staying up. He'd checked in on Sam an hour ago and the kid was sleeping soundly. Would've been the perfect time to grab some shut-eye in keeping with Sam's schedule. He'd run sick-Sam marathons before... only when the kid had been young obviously but he still remembered the crucial rule to keep up his own health.

Something was just nagging at him though... and it wasn't guilt - although holy shit was he feeling that too - but it was more just this unerring sense that he needed to stay on standby.

So he did.

By staring at the wall. In the hallway. Wishing he had a tennis ball.

...

Lucifer's words dripped into Sam's ears, freezing him to the bone.

"Most people think I burn hot. It's actually quite the opposite," he whispered calmly before breaking into soft laughter. Sam's whole body shivered as the freezing gust of wind from the morning star's voice blew through him, ruffling his damp hair and crystallizing whatever water was still kept in the knotted strands. His joints locked in the frost, his breath catching as he inhaled shallower and shallower gasps of below zero air.

Lucifer's presence had only ever been felt when Sam was in the cage. He'd been incorporeal yet completely omniscient. Michael's existence had barely ever registered, the angel's grace gone - snuffed out in the fall down to the deepest cube of hell with his damned brother. Sam could barely think much less contemplate where anyone or anything was. His body launched into several spasms before the screech of sharp metal rented the grey white emptiness in which he lay suspended. The morning star braced Sam's back along his spine, his touch like liquid nitrogen instantly searing him open from the back of his neck down. Sam screamed and tried to move in the nothingness but he was frozen solid already, his body uncoordinated, unable to obey his mind's commands. Sam's screams turned silent as he realized he could barely take anymore frozen air into his lungs.

...

Even if Dean  _had_  a tennis ball, he'd be worried it'd wake Sam up... so he kind of just had to sit in silence. He picked lint off his sweatpants, read his own palms and tried to count the number of women he'd slept with. That last one was a winner but quickly turned inappropriate were Sam to suddenly need him. He reluctantly gave up that line of thought in exchange for the last game he'd watched on TV. Cowboys versus Bears. What bullshit that'd been...

...

Sleek white silver - the flat of a scythe - winked its reflection in front of Sam suddenly and Sam watched in horror as it lifted up and swung down, plunging the curved blade directly into the space just below Sam's throat to hook itself in and pull away, jerking him forward by the embedded blade latched under his sternum.

Lucifer's burning cold touch pushed and the scythe pulled. Sam gasped as he flew forward, letting out a garbled cry. He could no longer scream at the unimaginable pain as he was thrust and slammed face down onto a long slab of metal grated with jagged pieces of rusted alloy crafted to look like icicles. Frost sparkled on the spikes in the grey whiteness and before he could anticipate the pain the scythe wrenched him up and dragged him forward. Sam gagged his scream which choked into a long, guttural moan as his flesh tore open and left the rusted metal icicles dripping - but quickly absorbing - the warm blood of a righteous soul.

...

An alarm went off down the hall and Dean checked his watch. Normally Sam was up around this time but they'd gone off schedule with the bath so Sam's time for meds was going to move up so he could catch the Z's he'd missed.

Dean hummed, bored, and exaggerated a groan as he got up to go turn the alarm off. He absently wondered if Sam even knew he kept the kid's meds on a clock; he usually nailed the snooze button within the first beep and disabled it before Sam woke up. At any rate, he needed to turn it off. It was already driving him nuts.

Dean padded down the hallway lazily, rubbing an itch on his ass as he entered into his bedroom to shut the device off. He stopped, looking around his room, and began to deliberate over which items he'd be willing to part with to make things up to his brother.

...

Wherever they were, it was not only Lucifer that craved the taste of a being so good.

Their surroundings seemed to swallow everything - every sound, every move, every thought Sam could possibly have - and need more. His existence in their realm... No one like him had ever set eyes upon it. He was the purest delicacy.

Sam didn't know how he knew, but the grey flurry of mist forming in front of him was Lucifer. The particles of frost and snow shaped itself in front of his one eye - the other had been gouged by one of the metal shards he'd just been torn across - then transformed into a wavering, bending sheet of ice that swooped over him slowly, sensuously, to wrap around his entire body and settle over his face and mouth. When next he spoke, Sam felt cold air exhale into his mouth.

"Ready to come home, Sammy? 'Cause you're coming back to me."

...

Looking around, it was hard not to realize how deeply attached Sam was to nearly every item in here. Dean couldn't have pegged Sam worse when he'd railed against him earlier.

Sam didn't have a death wish. If Dean had had his head screwed on straight, he would've known it; known his little brother had always seen the bigger picture. Sam saw the panoramic where Dean could only see the journey and its challenges. Sam didn't want conflict and he didn't want to fight. Sam had always wanted to do what was right and unlike Dean he'd never considered battle a requisite.

Dean preferred delineating sides for everything. It made things simpler, easier to put to bed, metaphorically speaking, but Sam... Sam needed to acknowledge complexity; assess and analyze all perspectives in order to reach his own conclusions.

Death was not an option for Sam to Dean. Case closed. But for Sam, his analysis of what it meant for a heart to stop was obviously more intricate and nuanced. Sam probably wanted to meet death with the same spirit of fearlessness he'd exhibited in life. It was honorable. Dean should never have faulted it. Sam found strength in it.

...

Sam tried to scream at the frozen air pushed into his lungs by Lucifer's voice. The morning star's sheet of ice pressed into him closer and on all sides, the violation crushing gasped sobs and tears out of Sam's last good eye to mingle with blood from the other. The grated metal slab soaked it up when drops fell and seemed to breathe out further storms of cold ecstacy, whirling rain, hail and sleet down upon them.

Yet it was all muffled by the veil of ice Lucifer kept tightening around Sam's body like a vice.

"I'm taking you back," Satan promised softly, adoringly.

...

Dean knew Sam also found strength in him. Had been raised and lived nearly his entire life to depend and rely upon Dean's presence and support. Taking that away from Sam had been... harsh. Worse than.

Dean understood that he'd been lashing out in fear. Sam couldn't possibly die alone... so if Dean left him alone, he wouldn't die.

...Which made no fucking sense.

It occurred to Dean that maybe nearly thirty years of living side-by-side with the kid would've been enough time to keep Dean's head clear when it came to Sam but good god  _damn_  did it cloud things when Dean was afraid.

By talking about his own death Sam had managed to hit more of a nerve in Dean than himself. It was fucked up but Dean had never - and would never - let go of that nerve. And he sure as hell wouldn't apologize for it.

...He still owed Sam an apology though... of that he was sure.

...

Sam's eyes snapped open to perfect and absolute darkness, still freezing cold, unable to move, Lucifer's icy pressure still bearing down on him. He heard a wheezing gasp sound out like a whistle. His own breath. Sam registered he was somehow drawing in oxygen... and with the fleeting sensation of air filling his lungs before both were to be subtracted yet again in the morning star's next scenario, Sam tried to scream out every piece of his soul that had thought he'd be claimed by heaven - not hell - this time.

He'd been damned all along. Tainted by Azazel, possessed by Lucifer, and slated for hell since the day he'd been born. There'd been no hope of redemption for him. He'd been laboring under the most dire false pretenses all his life...

So Sam screamed, his voice raw, like he'd already forgotten how to use his vocal chords. He wailed and shouted in anguish over the now dead hope he'd had for heaven and the last exchange he'd had with his brother.  _Did he want to die?_  Sam's thoughts were garbled and incoherent but he managed through the pain, screaming and writhing, suffering from loss and despair, tears flowing as he thought _I sure as hell didn't want to come back here! I never wanted to go back to hell! I don't deserve this!_

Sam's heart twisted.  _Dean_! He screamed and it came out as a rasp.  _Dean! Help me please..._

...

Dean cinched his lips to the side and considered a couple pure-iron machetes. He knew Sam had saved his and his father's life with one of them. He tried to figure out which one it'd been. He thought maybe the one with the blue grip but the red one looked cleaner - would look better in his room.

Taking both weapons down, Dean figured they were both pretty legit. The feel of the blue one felt good in his hands and... oh. Fuck if Dean wasn't dying for a hunt. He missed getting _dressed_ : jeans, heavy work shirts, his leather jacket... Missed the good, pure, simple kill and the whisky that went down so good in the aftermath. No-name bars with his brother in tow, sitting next to him matching Dean's shots with sips of beer. The two of them making jokes at each other's expense.

Maybe Dean could bring the Colt out to the hallway to clean it. It'd pass the time while Sam slept at the very least.

...

Lucifer was going to grow bored of Sam's sounds soon and limit him to thoughts. Pick out his voice box with a blade of ice or maybe just end up stabbing him with it - let it melt slowly into his throat to flood his lungs with blood and water.

So Sam made more of an effort to punch through the silence, taking advantage of his voice while he still had the luxury to use it.

...

Turning to the Colt's resting place in its case, Dean flinched as he heard some an ungodly bellow coming from outside his room and down the hall. It choked out a second later into complete silence and Dean waited, praying for sleep-deprived insanity.

He stood, stock still, listening with his head angled to the door of his room.

Again. This time a scream, frantic and pitched, shot out and echoed through all halls and atriums, reaching Dean's room clear as day.

The sound shredded through everything, the older brother's brain reduced to only one imperative. He flew out of his bedroom.

" _Sam_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	19. Cold War Part V

Dean clipped his shoulder against the door jamb as he turned in and slipped on the floor getting to Sam after flipping the light switch. The room bleached out under the industrial ceiling lights. The world tilted then righted itself. Dean ignored the sharp sting in his hip, having somehow smashed into a desk or something on his way to Sam's bed. Dean's heart beat out of his chest, blood rushed in his ears as he frantically got to his brother's side and landed heavy hands onto the unmoving blanket-covered mound that was his brother.

"Sam! Sam!" Dean shouted past his brother's screams, ripping the blankets off him. No blood - no apparent injury. He wasn't favoring any part of his body either. He remained prone, curled into a ball, face pale and sweaty, messy hair still damp, screaming loud enough to wake the dead.

Dean braced Sam, one hand on his waist, the other on his shoulder. Dean's sharp eyes assessed Sam's frame, trying to figure out what was wrong. At a loss, he fixed his gaze back onto Sam's strained face. "Sam!  _Sam_!" Dean called, trying to drown out his brother's screams, "What hurts!? Where's it hurt, Sammy, c'mon!" Dean yelled futilely. Sam paused for a second, inhaling deeply before he let out another mindless scream, practically shattering Dean's eardrums. The cords and tendons of his neck stressed out as he contorted, his back lifting off the mattress. He slammed back down on his side.

"Fuck," Dean whispered, shaken, losing patience. He grabbed the kid's coiling body and pulled him over and onto his back. Sam slumped over and Dean dragged him by the hips down towards the center of the bed to give him more room to work. The kid's tangled hair tracked down along the pillow, splaying out against the pale blue sheets. Sam gasped, his eyes opening wide and so dilated Dean could barely see hazel coloring.

"Sam! Sammy c'mon  _look at me, damn it_!"

Sam didn't register him. He writhed and twitched in small measures now he was on his back but he was still caught and essentially immobilized by whatever horror show was playing behind his eyes. He kept up his screams, breaking every few seconds to gather more breath in sharp gasps and cries before starting again.

" _Sam_!" Dean yelled directly over his brother's face between screams. Sam only flinched at Dean's yell and started shaking more. Dean watched as tears starting breaking and streaming down the sides of his face. Sam gasped another breath and the next scream tore through Dean's heart when he heard his own name barely enunciated in a desperate, hopeless bid for help from between his little brother's lips.

"Sam! Sam, I'm right here! I'm right here!"

Sam didn't hear him.

"Fuck Sam, c'mon!" Dean yelled. He pulled Sam's feet down and arms out slowly, laying him out so he could examine him more closely. Sam continued to tremble, panicked eyes glued to the ceiling but he didn't react. Dean ruled out broken bones in the limbs.

He leaned forward, placing fast, gentle pressure around the kid's head and watching Sam's already terrified expression for any flinch or indication of physical pain. Seeing and feeling nothing to indicate injury, he moved on to Sam's forehead, temples, cheek bones, jaw line...

In hindsight, Dean couldn't figure out how he'd missed it up until then but his fingers and palms were practically numb from panic and he was running on the expectation that he'd trigger acute pain. He'd see it in the kid's expression when he got there and finally get an idea of what he was working with. Without any blood or evidence of blunt trauma, Dean was praying against internal bleeding.

Moving down from Sam's head, Dean placed his whole palm against Sam's neck and slid it down onto his collar bone. It took him a second to register ice cold, clammy skin.

"Holy shit," Dean murmured heavily, "Sammy you're freezing cold."

Dean leaned back for a second, dread spreading through him as he assessed the kid for hypothermia, a condition that hadn't even occurred to him because it made zero sense given their circumstances. The bunker was normally at a decent 74 degrees Fahrenheit and Dean had even raised it to 76 before getting the kid out of the bathroom.

Quickly evaporating beads of sweat rolled down the kid's face and straining neck, mingling with tears and spit as Sam continued to scream himself hoarse. His pale, papery skin was a whole new level of white and stood out starkly below his long dark hair. Dean's eyes started watering when he picked up that Sam was pronouncing a garbled, 'D,' sound before his screams degraded back into undefinable wails of pain and horror.

Dean moved to finish the exam, picking up on the alarmingly low uniform temperature throughout. He trailed pressure along Sam's shoulders, chest, stomach, hips and legs all the while watching for any classic pain responses. Nothing but goose bumps along bare skin and sharp spasms and trembles that shook his frame. Sam continued to scream out frantically, his garbled words and moans completely indecipherable but still with the 'D' sound intact. Dean refused to acknowledge that sound, knowing he'd be incapable of handling the situation if he thought about his brother's blind, panicked calls... Because Sam was obviously withstanding torture - Dean was sure of that. For Sam to be so destroyed that he'd just call out for him so openly, so desperately... No. Dean couldn't think about it.

Whatever was happening, it was plainly obvious that it was completely removed from reality. Sam had to be enduring something separate - something psychological. He didn't know if he felt better or worse with that observation as he finished with Sam's ankles and feet and ruled his brother's only physical problem to be hypothermia. There was literally nothing to indicate Sam had even felt Dean's touch.

Dean bit his lip anxiously, giving himself a split second to weigh priorities. Whatever the cause of Sam's hysteria, it was going to have to take a back seat. He had to get Sam's temperature up.

Dean jumped up from the bed, hating himself for leaving his wailing, lost brother lying out on the mattress alone but he couldn't waste time. Sam's temperature - and how it got there - was, Dean knew, unprecedented and wholly supernatural in nature: no way Sam could've gotten this cold by his surroundings. The room's temperature was in the tropics and he'd found the kid under all the covers. Dean ran as cold as his brother's skin when it dawned on him that if he couldn't fix this with everything he knew about the trials then no hospital would be able to either.

...

Sam only registered light flashing into his retinas and staying there - the signal that Lucifer had begun the next scenario. Trapped, he waited in despair, using his lungs and breath and vocal chords.

Sam heard his brother - a faint call in from beyond and all around the frosty misted eternity - and shouted back, knowing it was false but still wanting something to hold onto. His voice sounded out briefly before getting swallowed up by the vast, clouded nothingness into muffled silence.

...

Dean tore through the hallway to grab the thermometer on his bedside along with all the blankets and covers he could hold. Nearly tripping over the edges dragging along the floor, he dropped his cargo at the foot of the bed to climb back onto it and up to Sam.

Dean knelt over his brother, trained eyes now more fully scrutinizing the kid for classic symptoms of hypothermia. Dean's heart constricted when he thought he could see the beginnings of a blue-ish tint in Sam's lips that seemed to match the bed sheet. He grabbed Sam's hands, his own shaking with fear and anxiety.

"Fuck," Dean whispered, his voice breaking at the sight of the matching blue hue in the nail beds. He put Sam's hand down carefully and moved forward to press a hand down over Sam's heart to get a read on its beat. He failed to pick up on anything given the jolts and spasms wracking his little brother's body. He noticed Sam's t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. Sam screamed out again, his voice pitched with terror and pain.

"Fuck, damn it, Sam, shut the fuck up and hold still," Dean begged, his voice shaky as he pushed Sam down and held him there so he could press an ear to Sam's heart. He closed his eyes, listening as hard as possible, trying his best to ignore the kid's ear-splitting screams. Sam's heart was going a mile a minute, slight double-beats coming every forty seconds or so. Dean swore quietly and got up.

"Sam! C'mon snap out of it!  _Sam_!" Dean yelled, getting sick of hearing Sam's terror, his own panic-driven rage coming out as he worked. Dean had to temper himself though or he'd hurt him in his frenzy to get a response.

Dean took a deep breath, steadied himself, and  _gently_  lifted Sam up against him, knowing full well that jarring him roughly could further disrupt the kid's heart beat. Hypothermia made his brother more fragile than he'd ever been so far and his heart was struggling to beat regularly. Dean had to get it regular again before it went off the grid from the cold's effects.

Dean cringed, frightened that his careful moves weren't careful enough as the kid sunk against his chest. He handled Sam like glass as he managed to pull Sam's wet t-shirt off. Sam gagged alternating wet and dry breaths over his shoulder, shuddering hard against him. Dean realized he was narrating everything he was doing to Sam to help calm himself down.

Throwing the T-shirt away, Dean laid his shivering, oblivious brother back down to the mattress and grabbed the blankets he'd torn off him to throw them back on. He jumped off the bed and picked up the blankets he'd dropped on the floor. He opened them wide to spread over Sam. Before the last blanket settled Dean crawled on top of them and tunneled under.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean called, getting in next to Sam. Sam gagged again, tears streaming, and his voice shifted to raw sorrow, sounding like it'd been through a grater.

"Dean, help. Help me please..." Sam choked out quietly, turning his head away. The words were articulated and quieter than any he'd said yet but they felt damning to Dean. Implicit in his little brother's tone was the unmistakable sentiment that his stricken, desperate pleas were utterly futile.

Dean pulled Sam's head back to face forward and hovered over him, their foreheads nearly touching.

"Sammy! Sam snap out of this! You're hallucinating! Pull out of it!  _Now_!" Dean demanded, switching hands to hold Sam's head and reaching across his brother's chest to keep him still.

Sam choked on tears, squeezed his eyes tight, and shook his head and Dean could tell he was getting through, his voice cutting through whatever veil of unreality was keeping his brother trapped.

Dean knew he couldn't spare much more time working on Sam's state of mind but the elation of seeing his brother's response to his voice was too much. The kid was still freezing cold and Dean needed to start monitoring his temperature - take a baseline and fold the kid against him for skin-to-skin contact... but he was  _so fucking_   _close_. Sam was breaking the surface and Dean just wanted - needed - his brother back with him. They'd get through this together.

"It's not real! Sam! I'm right here! Right here! You're safe!" Dean yelled, brushing Sam's hair back. He shoved his arms up under Sam's shoulders and wrapped him in closer. Sam's face screwed up into disbelieving grief, shaking his head as if refusing to give in, tears streaming down his cheeks. "C'mon, Sam, c'mon back to me now, Sammy!" Dean pleaded, a tear of his own slipping through before realizing he couldn't spare another second. "God damn it," Dean sniffed and swallowed his emotions as he let go of his brother for a minute to take off his own t-shirt.

Dean briefly flashed back to the memory of him and Sam attending courses in emergency medical care their father had scheduled for them throughout their teens. They'd acquired the practical (if unofficial) training equivalent to that of a paramedic... if not better than given the more unusual scenarios the varied disaster survival workshops they'd attended had covered. The two of them regarded their courses seriously, always received full marks, and never failed to mock the more awkward life-saving techniques like CPR and using skin-to-skin contact to warm someone up in the event of limited supplies (namely a lack of heat packs). They'd jokingly promised each other they were cool with letting the other die in the event.

Dean rolled his eyes at the memory and burrowed under the covers again. He vaguely registered that Sam was starting to calm down, screams continually getting choked off and eventually silenced into a steady flow of tears and choked sobs.

...

Dean's voice echoed through to him again and again. Grief swept Sam out from under, robbing him of screams and leaving him shattered with heaving sobs and cries. He wanted Dean so bad.

This wretched eternity had never allowed him to forget his brother's voice, pulling it out into the atmosphere at the worst moments of torture to crush desperate tears out of his eyes. To break him.

The idea that Dean could be near - could save him in this deep, locked corner of hell - had always destroyed whatever vestiges of strength he still had, reducing him to a terrified beggar reaching out to the hallucination of his big brother for salvation. He'd scream for Dean for all he was ever worth and the morning star would cackle with glee as he cut into Sam deeper until there was nothing left of him.

And then it'd start again.

...

Dean would never have imagined that he'd prefer to hear Sam crying over anything else but the way Sam had been screaming was like... like he was being tortured...

Oh.

Oh shit.

Lucifer's words in Detroit cut through Dean like lightning, neurons firing as the split second connection made itself known. Sam's hypothermia must've kicked his memories of the cage into full gear, fleshing themselves out in Sam's subconscious as he'd been lying asleep in bed, his temperature lowering all the while.

"Sam! Sammy you're here with me in the bunker, bud, c'mon!" Dean said as he pulled Sam's back up against his chest. Any further reassurances cut off at contact and the older brother gasped.

"Holy shi-" Dean automatically started shivering, his chest flush against the frigid skin of Sam's back, "Oh my god," Dean breathed, trying to adjust. He funneled his instinctual reaction to pull away from his little brother's cold skin towards grabbing the kid's body closer to him. Sam cried out in fear, bucking against the heat and pressure on his back and forcing Dean to react fast. He wrapped his arms around Sam's icy torso tightly, holding him still and letting him ride out whatever nightmare was making his spine so sensitive. He bent his down to lean his head against Sam's.

"Shh calm down, calm down, Sammy, I've got you, I've got you," Dean whispered, his words rising and falling at every frantic jerk and jolt Sam made to get away. "Come on, relax, Sammy. Easy, Easy, Sam, c'mon, it's just me," Dean continued. The kid eventually settled with a hopeless, miserable sob. "Good job, Sam, good, you're okay," Dean murmured as Sam dissolved into soft, quiet cries.

Dean felt around to get his little brother's heart under his hand. It was a cheap attempt to track its beat and Dean knew the kid's breathing was going to tell him more... but it was reassuring. Still too fast but Dean was taking what he could get in terms of confirmation that the kid was still with him. Still fighting.

Now that Sam was quiet, Dean hoped the kid would be better able to hear him. He kept Sam clutched tightly in his arms as he spoke as calmly as possible.

"Okay, okay, Sammy listen to me. You're not in the cage. You're not with Lucifer. You're never going back. I've got you," Dean started rocking them slowly, trying to get Sam to register the reality-based movement, "I've got you, Sam - there's nothing to be afraid of - nothing that can hurt you. I promise, Sam. C'mon, Sammy, c'mon, come back to me." He kept up the litany, praying that he'd get through soon.

...

Sam couldn't pick up on any other senses as he cried in the cage, his spirit shattered. He just wished for Dean's voice in the mists to continue; his only comfort in this level of hell...

It was barely noticeable but slowly... so slowly... the cold began to feel like it was receding. He'd felt a full press of something soft but solid against his back earlier. He thought it'd been Lucifer but the threat had slowly vanished as nothing else happened... No pain, no prior injury of a split spine torturing him. Sam couldn't sense  _warmth_ , exactly. It was just getting a little better. Improving in the smallest increments.

Sam settled down into dull despair, the sparks of wonder lighting up more and more as he realized he couldn't hear or sense Lucifer anymore either; the morning star's sheet of ice that'd wrapped itself around him had lifted and he felt his own intact limbs twitch and spasm out freely.

Sam tried to use it, moving around as much as possible, still listening to Dean's voice. It was turning into real words. Encouraging, reassuring, promising words that his big brother was right there with him somehow.

Sam felt the first sharp shock of warmth up his back and immediately wriggled towards it. Dean's voice broke through again, his tone urgent and excited and praising as if he was reacting to what Sam had just done. He could just barely feel gentle warm pressures moving around and against his chest.

Sam didn't know what was going on but with another whimpered prayer for strength, he tried to do it again.

...

Sam gave a sudden shudder. He gasped a cry and, still shaking in Dean's arms, managed to move around under his brother's hold to get his back closer up against Dean.

"Yes! Sam, good, good, c'mon, c'mere, I'm right here, Sammy, I've got you," Dean called, thrilled to feel his brother actively moving into him closer to his warmth. Sam's eyes were closed, his expression still full of pain and fear but the kid was obviously trying - had obviously picked up on Dean's presence well enough to move towards it.

"C'mon Sammy, you've got this, c'mon, c'mon," Dean pushed and pressed against his brother with his arms, trying to trigger the kid's awareness that he was there. With another short, sharp cry of effort, Sam's arms shot out to grab onto Dean's, his fingers like icicles wrapping around and clutching Dean's wrists like a vice.

"Yeah Sammy! Sam! Good job, good boy," Dean said, accidentally regressing in his praise. If any circumstance were to strip them of their defenses, it was this one. "Do it again, Sammy, c'mon, wake up, wake up for me, I'm right here," Dean pushed, tears of mingled fear and relief rolling down his face as he whispered against his little brother's tangled hair.

The kid was devastated but Dean could tell Sam was still fighting. Crying out, shaking and terrified, the kid was still molding himself against Dean, slowly melting under Dean's weight and warmth. Dean held his little brother tight, rocking them, whispering to him to that he was in his arms and safe.

A tear slipped past. Dean needed this to work.

...

His brother's hushed, gravelly voice kept whispering into his ear, its sound getting louder and clearer. Sam gasped wetly and swallowed. Still trembling, he was growing disoriented. Trying so damn hard to figure out what was going on, he writhed and wriggled into the warmth he now felt in fleeting streaks and pressures all over his body.

"Wake up, Sammy. I'm right here. I've got you," Sam felt his body hugged, warmth and comfort seeping into him just as his brother's words resumed, "You're safe. I'm right here holding you. Right here. You gotta come back to me, Sam. You gotta hold on... You gotta hold on for me, Sammy."

Full reality slammed back into Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	20. Cold War Part VI

Full reality slammed back into Sam.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean shouted into his ear and Sam jumped, blinking his eyes, orienting himself. Shards of light, the sensation of sweaty bed sheets... what had to be Dean's body practically on top of him. Sam started coughing, unable to take a full breath in the still-frigid surroundings, shell-shocked from the nightmare.

"D-Dean-," Sam whispered. Dean tightened his grip and rubbed his back harder. "C-cold-" Sam could barely get out.

"Yeah we're trying to get your temp up, Sammy, don't worry," Dean replied, then pulled Sam with him to grab the thermometer off the bedside table. Sam twisted around, jerky and spastic. He needed to see his brother - see he was real. Lucifer's presence still felt so true and real... Like he'd appear any minute again to usher him back to be with him for the rest of eternity.

Dean went with it, letting the kid face him as he settled back down with the thermometer in hand.

"Easy, easy, Sammy, I've got you under six blankets and-" Dean trailed off just as Sam felt a foreign plastic point enter his ear. He flinched away but Dean grabbed him around the shoulders. "Hey-hey-hey it's okay, it's okay, Sam, it's just the thermometer, s'just me," Dean reassured, keeping the thing in his ear. Sam cringed, gritting his teeth as he shook in Dean's arms, trying his best to stay still despite the invasive feeling of the device.

His brother pulled it out and he heard Dean swear then set the thermometer down behind him on the mattress before pulling Sam impossibly closer to him.

"W-wha-"

"Nothing. Don't worry. We'll get it back up, Sam, just hold onto me, okay?"

Sam gasped and nodded, attempting to wriggle his arms and open his palms against Dean's back.

It dawned on Sam then, when he couldn't open his palms, that he might not make it this time. This time, where he felt like any minute one of his frost-bitten limbs would break off and get carried back down to the pit. Piece by piece, atom by atom, he'd be dragged screaming back down there. This time, where he couldn't feel his body warming up under his brother anymore.

And Satan had promised it'd be soon...

"H-he said..." Sam breathed, "I'm g-g-gonna go back, Dea-" Sam cried, tears starting to fall.

"You're not. You're not, Sam. It was a nightmare - just a nightmare-"

"F-felt r-r-real-"

Dean gripped the back of Sam's head.

"It wasn't real, Sammy, wasn't real," he whispered, "you're not ever going back there. You've got a one-way ticket to heaven, you know that," Dean finished, his voice cracking at the acknowledgement.

It was almost like Dean deserved this for having said what he had to Sam. He wanted Sam to reject death, yeah, but... not out of terror. Not because the kid would think he'd go back to hell.

"N-no," Sam quaked, "he s-said-"

"What did I say?" Dean interrupted sharply. "It wasn't real, Sam. C'mon get it together." Dean hefted Sam up, gripping the kid roughly. Sam was weak though; the kid didn't react to his harsh treatment. He just kept shaking, frail, limply absorbing Dean's bruising holds. Dean softened and brushed the kid's hair back as Sam gagged and tried as hard as he could to gulp his tears back.

"Sorry, c'mon," Dean squeezed the back of Sam's neck and bent lower to kiss the side of his head, "you're gonna be just fine, Sammy. Just work on warming up, let's just keep you warm, okay?"

Sam wept into Dean's shirt, as much from the hypothermia as his fear of dying with a one-way ticket to the cage instead of heaven. His body kept getting wracked with spasms without any sign of letting up. Dean held them together, tight, and talked them through it. A solid presence keeping Sam in the here and now... but Sam could feel it. He knew Dean would soon. The battle was coming to an end...

They remained silent for a couple of minutes, the fear sinking into Dean more and more that Sam wasn't warming. His circulation wasn't getting better. Sam best of all could sense streaks of painful ice jolt through him despite Dean's efforts. It was like Dean's warmth was only hitting the surface and retreating back again. It felt futile; Sam's body just wasn't recovering.

After a few minutes, Sam had to speak up. His mind was fading, he knew... and... he couldn't... allow this to happen without saying something - anything - to set things right... He wouldn't be able to talk eventually and... he couldn't... go...  _silently_   _into the night_...

Sam bit back a sob.

"D-Dean..."

"Yeah?"

Sam felt tears slipping off the sides of his eyes.

"If... f'I... die..."

"Sammy," Dean warned but his voice trembled and Sam grabbed Dean's arm feebly, cutting him off from saying anything more. Dean held his breath at the gesture, knowing it was taking effort and willing to honor it.

Sam breathed heavily, trying to steady his voice for what he was going to say next. He licked his lips and leaned his head back to look into his brother's eyes.

"I d-don't wan' you t-to... D-Dean..." Sam trailed off, fresh tears streaming from his eyes. He didn't... he wasn't sure what he was trying to say... And Dean was looking at him with so much fear and love, his eyes glistening to match Sam's. Sam gasped a breath, demanding it of himself to get it out. "Dean... I'm... s-so sorry..." Sam whispered desperately.

Just as Sam finished, his spine gave another spasm and his torso jerked out of Dean's hold.

"Sam! No-no-no, Sam, come on!" Dean's arms grasped Sam under his back. Sam felt him pull him up and over into his lap. Sam's hands, shaking and curled into loose fists, got pushed up and lodged between their chests as Dean held him like he weighed nothing across his chest.

"Don't apologize, Sam. You have nothing to apologize for, do you understand me? I'm sorry, okay?  _I'm_  sorry," Dean whispered into his little brother's ear. Sam cringed into Dean's shoulder and let out let out another sob. He tried to wrap his arms around his brother and couldn't. Dean helped him and Sam cried. Dean braced the back of Sam's head as the kid's body continued to shiver.  _Jesus Christ_ , Dean thought,  _Sammy was getting colder._

"I-I... might..." Sam choked, freezing against his brother's warm skin, "th-this... time... Dea-" Dean read his little brother's mind and hiked the kid up closer against him, cutting him off from completing his thought.

"It's okay. That's okay. I'm right here, Sam. I'm not leaving you," Dean said, inwardly begging Sam not to try to say it out loud again. He hugged Sam close, "remember, Sammy? I'm never gonna leave you."

Sam wept and nodded.

"Good, Sam, just stay with me for as long as you can, okay?" Dean's voice cracked.

"Okay," Sam garbled, struggling to breathe.

Dean battled with his own denial. If this was what was happening he wouldn't be able to stop it and if that was the case, Sam had made a few things pretty clear about what he wanted from this moment and Dean couldn't take that away from him even though he so desperately wanted to...

Sam felt Dean jolt with a sob of his own.

"Sammy I'm right here, you know that right?"

"Y-yeah," Sam gasped.

"All right and you're gonna hold on to me - you're gonna keep holding on to me until you can't hold on any more, right?"

"Y-ye-"

"Say it, Sammy, what're you gonna do?"

"H-hold... h-hold on," Sam cried, "t'you." He gripped Dean lamely as Dean hefted him up higher. Sam felt how strong Dean was every time he did that and wished that he could rely on it forever. He didn't want to die and he didn't want to go to hell... He just wanted to be safe. He just wanted... to be better for Dean.

"Good Sammy, good job," Dean blinked tears back, his voice barely audible. Sam heard Dean choke a cry and it scared him. He tried to show Dean he was still... kind of active - still listening at least. He tilted his head and wriggled closer. Dean met the movement with his own.

Dean only ever covered him, protected him, promised him things that Sam never really thought he was worthy of...

"Now Sammy you gotta listen to me, okay?" Dean asked, his voice crackling with emotion.

Sam gave a soft, barely discernible nod against Dean's neck.

"If you die," Dean held Sam tighter, willing against it with every fiber of his being, "you're going straight to heaven."

Dean felt Sam jerk with a sob. He wanted to believe it...

"I promise you, Sammy, you're not going back. You're gonna go straight to heaven, do you understand?" Dean felt Sam shakily nod against him. "Good. Now tell me. Where are you gonna go?" Dean coached through his own tears. Sam cried harder against his brother.

"C'mon Sammy where are you gonna go?" Dean prompted roughly, overcompensating for his own breakdown.

"Heav-v-ven," Sam wept through his own convulsions and somehow Sam believed it.

"Good boy, good job," Dean hugged Sam, unable to hold back full-out cries, and kissed the back of his head. Sam felt a childhood thrill of hearing Dean's approval for just a moment before lapsing back into focus and concentration because Dean had started talking again.

"Okay... one last thing, Sammy," Dean sniffed wetly, his voice breaking across the board. He waited for Sam to quiet.

"Say 'I love you, Dean,'" Dean whispered innocently between crying gasps, tears slipping and falling into his brother's hair. Sam's fingers clenched tighter in Dean's shirt, letting out a guttural sob at Dean's request. The kid gulped and tried to gather enough breath to say it.

"I... l-love y-you, De," Sam managed, weak and shivering.

"I love you too Sammy," Dean choked out, destroyed, and leaned Sam's head back to place a kiss to his little brother's cold forehead.

Dean crushed Sam back to him quickly.

"That's it. That's all, Sammy. I've got you. I've always got you," Dean whispered, digging his face into Sam's neck. He continued to rub Sam's back and rock his body as he held him, still hoping and praying that Sam's temperature could rise. Dean kept his voice going somehow no matter how raw his throat was, knowing full well that if Sam was slipping away, he'd know he wasn't alone. He'd never be alone.

Sam tried to absorb the heat surrounding him. He couldn't. So he remained in his big brother's arms and just listened... gradually believing every single repeated promise until he started to feel consciousness start to slip away...

* * *

The bunker was quiet; all lights off save for a stream out into the hall from the cracked door of Sam's room. Sleet and rain stormed down outside upon the Men of Letters bunker in the early morning hours. Dean could hear the remote sounds - the weather pattering down upon their fortress. For all the safety and security this new home of theirs' provided, it wasn't protecting Sam.

Dean shifted, pulling Sam's limp form up higher against him. He was leaning against the headboard with Sam's back to his chest, curled around his little brother's body, the blankets wrapped around them as tightly as Dean could get them. The whispered platitudes he spoke against Sam's neck and into the kid's ear were getting old. He'd been at it for an hour, maybe more, just talking to him, all the while keeping tabs on his slowing heart beat, his palm pressed to his little brother's chest. He checked Sam's pulse and felt its increasingly sluggish pace. He didn't know what more to do...

A slow tear broke from Dean's eye. He sniffed a few times before leaning Sam back and giving him a kiss on the cheek. He buried his face into Sam's neck. "I'm right here. I've got you, Sammy, just relax. You're safe. You're safe," he kept saying.

More time passed and while Dean was no longer recognizing Sam's temperature as still freezing against his own skin, he could only attribute that to his own numb shock. Sam had stopped moving or talking - he couldn't form coherent sentences or even simple words. Sam gasped twice rapid-fire like he was suffocating then resumed his already distressed, shallow breaths. Dean held on.

"Sammy?" He asked fearfully. Sam wasn't crying anymore either. The thermometer told him the kid's chilled body was still too cold. The older brother could feel small micro shivers working up and down his frame. "Sam?" Dean called again, his voice pitched with panic. He felt Sam's fingers dip into his leg - just barely any pressure at all but it was still there. Dean couldn't receive it as a promising sign but he was taking what he could get. Dean blinked back tears and thought of an alternative to his reassurances. He couldn't imagine Sam wouldn't appreciate it...

Dean licked his lips and took a breath.

"Sammy, remember when you were really little? I used to sing to you," Dean rasped, his throat sore, mouth dry. He felt Sam's fingers twitch again. He took it as his cue to go on. "I don't know if I ever told you but it was the song Mom used to sing to me. You always fell asleep so fast when I..." Dean choked, unable to continue, thinking of the innocent, wide-eyed baby that'd reach out to him in awe as soon as he'd go a few chords in.

Dean sniffed and blinked as he rearranged his brother, tilting his Sammy back so they could meet each other's eyes. Sam's were glazed, his expression neutral, but the kid managed to angle his sight up at Dean as his brother kept him bundled up warmly, cradled in his arms.

Dean began the starting notes to, "Hey Jude," slowly, getting comfortable with holding the tune. His eyes crinkled into a blurry smile as he watched Sam's miniscule reactions, his muscles relaxing against Dean's body, softening to the words Dean sang, his guardian's voice smooth and soothing and promising a better end than any he could've ever imagined.

Dean watched as Sam's eyelids fell to half-mast and, before they closed all the way, audibly bit back a cry before kissing his baby brother once more on the forehead before whispering into Sam's ear.

"Close your eyes, Sammy. It's okay. I've got you. I've got you," Dean hugged him and stayed hunched over, clutching his little brother as he resumed the song to lull his brother to sleep... or death. They remained that way for what felt like ages until Dean's arms wore out. He brought his brother's body back against him as he lay down. He kept one arm against Sam's back and a hand against Sam's head which now angled into the crook of his neck. Dean wouldn't let Sam's body fall away from him.

Dean kept singing, hoping Sam could still hear him yet refusing to check anymore. He was too scared to have to face the truth if he wasn't. He wasn't ready for Sam to leave him. Not like this.

So Dean kept singing, his voice catching and scratchy as time - and the tune - wore on. His eyes were red and his skin pale from exhaustion, stress, and fear. Every now and then he'd tug Sam's limp form up closer to him and Sam would flop like a puppet according to Dean's pulls. It terrified Dean but he still held on tight. Still kept Sam covered, protected, and loved.

Dean trailed off weakly and drifted slowly into a haze of half wakefulness. He wouldn't dare fall asleep but he felt detached, a weary sense of calm coming over him as he simply waited. Quiet and still, he needed the resolve and strength to check on his brother. He didn't have it yet. So he just... waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	21. I'm Not Okay (I Promise) Part I

Sam's sense of sound came back to him. Steady  _thuh-thumps_  of Dean's heart and soft breathing. Sam's were shallow and slow, his mind disoriented but he knew he was with his brother. He knew he was safe. It registered that he was lying against Dean - could feel Dean's arms around him - and vaguely tried to recall what had happened. Things were too foggy though so he tried to move his fingers to let Dean know he was coming out of it.

Sam's left hand was curled into a fist against Dean's right shoulder. He twitched it open weakly, spreading his fingers out to leave his palm against Dean's collarbone, the pads of his fingers scratching up and out to press against his brother.

Sam felt Dean gasp and jerk into full consciousness at Sam's movement. Sam could hear his brother's heart beat pick up.

"De-" Sam breathed.

Suddenly Sam was lifted and jarred, jostled around and turned over onto his back facing the ceiling. Sam gasped and squirmed under the force of the movement but his head started to clear as he heard his brother's voice for the first time since waking up.

"Sam? Sammy!"

Sam cringed and he tried to blink his eyes open to see. He could feel Dean's arm holding him up along his spine a few inches above the bed. Dean's hand was bracing the weight of his head so it wouldn't fall back.

"C'mon Sammy, come back to me, c'mon," Dean begged and Sam felt his hair getting brushed away from his face.

"-with you," Sam whispered, slurring, still unable to open his eyes or give a coordinated movement. Sam sensed that was all right though because as soon as he managed to speak he felt Dean lowering him gently back down against his pillow.

"Oh my god," Dean rasped, the panicked relief in his brother's tone confusing Sam. He didn't have much time to contemplate it though because just as he was settled on the bed he felt the mattress bounce harshly under him. Dean had launched off it and somewhere off to the side of the room Sam could hear him rustling and making sounds Sam couldn't interpret.

"Dee-" Sam trailed off and realized his voice had gotten stronger. He felt his brother's presence instantly as he came over to sit on the edge of the bed and lean over him. Sam felt Dean's hand palm the side of his head so it'd tilt and the plastic tip of a thermometer entered his ear. Sam winced, hating that damn thing, and found his body was reacting accordingly too, withdrawing and writhing slightly in discomfort.

"Relax, relax, Sammy," Dean said softly. Sam breathed deep and nodded, trying to stay calm. The thermometer beeped and Dean pulled it out.

Sam wanted to know the results and feel in control - or at least aware - of his condition. Was he running a fever? If anything he just felt kind of chilly.

He knew he didn't have the vocal strength to ask straight out but if he could just get a glimpse of his brother's expression while he was looking at the temp read-out...

Sam tried to open his eyes and failed yet again. It felt like they were glued together and every time he'd try to lift a lid by even a small measure it'd pull painfully at sensitive, sore skin. Whatever light could get in during these attempts also stung. Sam admitted defeat, resolving to keep his eyes closed until he had the dexterity to use his fingers to rub his eyes.

"Your temp's up. We gotta keep it that way," Dean said. Any other person in the world would have thought his tone had sounded rough and strong - ready to take on the next challenge and succeed.

Sam perceived it differently. Dean voice was brittle.

Sam reconsidered his interpretation as Dean picked him up under the armpits and pulled him into a sitting position. Sam moaned and swayed under his brother's hold, the quintessential, dizzy and disoriented rag doll.

"Dee," Sam breathed heavily from the exertion as Dean pulled something over his head. As soon as it'd gotten down past his neck Dean let Sam slump against him, Sam's head rolling and settling onto his brother's shoulder.

Sam felt Dean dressing him into a long-sleeved shirt, pulling one limp arm through the sleeve then the other and finally pulling the shirt down his back and stomach. Sam shivered and Dean froze a second before pushing Sam up closer against his chest and hugging him.

"Dee wa's going on," Sam slurred against Dean's shoulder, vaguely aware that this level of affection from Dean was unusual. Dean pressed a palm to the back of Sam's head and leaned forward causing Sam to lean backwards and depend wholly on his big brother to keep him from falling.

"Nothing, Sammy, you're okay," Dean said as he grabbed something on the bed behind Sam and brought them back up. In his head Sam repeated the way Dean had spoken. Something was off. Something was really off...

Before he could analyze it further he was sideswiped by what he later figured out was a heavy sweatshirt - a hoodie - getting pulled over his head. Sam struggled weakly against the confines, feeling like he wasn't getting enough air as Dean pulled the heavy yet soft fabric past Sam's face. Finally his brother got his face to the mouth of the hood. Sam gasped and clutched onto Dean, shaky and worried.

"Dee," Sam asked, getting scared. Of what, he wasn't sure but Dean normally talked to him more - reassured him more and would let him know what was happening and what he was doing. Dean must know by now that Sam was disoriented. He couldn't remember a damn thing. So why wasn't Dean helping him surface?

Dean continued to say nothing. He just pulled Sam close and let him take a breather. He rubbed Sam's back and rocked them side to side. Sam liked it and felt better but the back of his mind kept nagging at him. Dean was treating him like he was five years old.

Sam still couldn't help but relax against his brother. He lost tension and Dean, sensing it, resumed the work of getting him dressed quietly. As soon as he was done Dean braced Sam and gently lowered him back down to the pillow. Sam's arms reached up aimlessly as Dean detached, searching for him in the dark. Instead of his brother he felt heavy blankets land on him, pushing his arms down against his stomach. A second later he felt Dean's hands shoving the blankets around Sam's frame, cocooning him in tightly with barely any space to move at all.

"Dean!" Sam breathed, his voice much stronger now if not still raw and scratchy. He squirmed inside his blanketed prison.

"I'm right here, Sam. I'm getting you warm, that's all. It's okay - you're okay," Dean said softly and finished up tucking him in. Sam felt Dean move up closer to his head. Dean pulled Sam's hood down further over Sam's face.

Sam tried to blink his eyes open, now more out of frustration than a need to orient himself. He cringed with pain each time he tried to pry his eyelids open, receiving glaring white light and attempting to understand the cloudy, amorphous shapes that constituted his vision.

"Dean...what..." Sam trailed off, searching for the blurry shape of his brother. Just as he landed on it Dean turned towards him and Sam squinted to see his brother's expression. Dean ignored Sam's open eyes, instead leaning over Sam's head to hook a bag of saline up to the bed post.

"I need your arm," Dean whispered gently, glancing to meet Sam's eyes for a second before carefully pulling Sam's closest arm out from under the covers. Sam winced with confusion, studying the blurry outline of his brother.

Dean got to work on the IV, poking and prodding until he could get a viable vein. Sam still couldn't make out his brother's features very well. He could, however, notice that Dean's hands were trembling.

"Dean what's wrong?" Sam rasped. Dean sniffed.

"What do you remember?" He asked darkly. Sam shook his head and cringed at the move then let his eyes wander as he tried to recall...

His sight was getting better as he swept the bedroom with his eyes.

"Can you eat?" Dean asked without looking up.

"I think so. I'm thirsty though," Sam replied just as he felt the needle go in. Sam let out a light breath of surprise but it didn't really hurt. Despite Dean's shakes it'd gone in smooth. He taped Sam up and gingerly, with all the care in the world, set Sam's arm back down on the bed.

Finally Dean looked up at Sam and Sam tried very hard not to react at the sight. He could finally see now and Dean looked absolutely dreadful.

"Okay I'll get you something on both fronts. I'm hooking you up here as a precaution," Dean gestured to the IV, "we'll be able to take it off soon if you can get something in you."

Sam swallowed his anxiety and nodded, rendered mute by his brother's appearance. Dean's skin was a sickly pale with a sallow tinge to it. His eyes were rimmed red and glassy. Black smudges circled his sockets making them appear sunken, almost skeletal. But out of all of this, Sam was most concerned by the dull, stoic expressions that remained on his brother's face and tone of voice. Dean usually provided active, rapid, adrenaline-based care when Sam was suffering. Instead for the first time in Sam's life, Dean was coming off as too careful and slow. He wasn't doing anything wrong per se but it was unmistakably off-kilter. It wasn't  _Dean_.

As if to prove him right, Dean let out a deep sigh and slowly pressed a palm to Sam's cheek, then forehead, feeling Sam's face to gauge temperature with unprecedented affection. Unprecedented because Dean had been affectionate since the start of all this, Sam knew, but this was somehow different. Dean was holding nothing back. He seemed completely uninterested in finding funny, witty excuses to justify these... classic gestures of love. He had become totally ambivalent to any defense mechanisms he may have had or facades he'd always maintained.

Essentially, Dean seemed to have somehow lost whatever carefree, dynamic sense of humor he had always had. His hand shook and trembled against Sam's face and Sam wanted to grab it and hold it still. Wrapped like a sardine, he couldn't, but he kept eye contact... Kept studying his big brother for hints as to why he was acting like this.

It was just a flicker - a brief shattered glimpse - but Sam caught the pure, childlike desperation and vulnerability in Dean's expression for a split-second as he gazed into Sam's eyes. It vanished instantly and Dean got up with a soft huff.

"I'll be right back. I'm just going to the kitchen, okay?" He checked quietly. Sam swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah," Sam said, worried, "okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	22. I'm Not Okay (I Promise) Part II

Dean worked in the kitchen making chicken noodle soup. It was from a can. He just set it on the stove top and waited, staring at nothing until the tremors in his hands got so bad he'd have to shake them out again. The rest of him felt numb. He heard the soup starting to boil and turned it down to simmer.

He found a bowl and spoon. He poured a modest portion for Sam and set the pot back on the flame. He almost forgot to turn the stove off before he left. On his way out he thought of grabbing some paper towels.

He felt numb. Sam was alive and he couldn't process it. Just listened to the muted sounds in the kitchen echoing around until he was ready to go. Stepping through the empty, silent library, walking down the hall. Colors were dull. The smell of the soup made him vaguely nauseous.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been but judging by Sam's surprised expression he assumed it'd been relatively fast. Even on autopilot he knew how to move.

"Chicken noodle soup," Dean announced, his voice like gravel, and took the uneaten day-old ham and cheese sandwich off the bedside table before setting the bowl down in its stead.

Sam watched nervously.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I remember," Sam said, his voice small and guilty. Dean sniffed and nodded, unwilling to look at Sam. There was a brief silence as Sam's words sunk in. He wondered just how much Sam remembered. If he remembered telling him that he loved him, Dean returning the words. He doubted the kid remembered Hey Jude...

"Can you sit up?" Dean asked as he picked the bowl off the nightstand, getting ready to feed him. The bowl shook under Dean's hands. Dean gripped it tighter.

Dean heard Sam rustling under the covers, trying to sit up. With one quick glance Dean could see Sam was having difficulty so he set the bowl back down to help. He lifted Sam up from under his armpits and set him against the head board.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," Sam murmured, trying to catch Dean's eyes. Dean wouldn't allow it and leaned back to grab the soup but figured he'd place the paper towels down first.

"Still not strong enough to hold this, right?" He asked nodding towards the soup as he spread the towels over Sam's chest.

"I don't think so," Sam replied doubtfully. Ordinarily Sam would've argued against getting spoon fed at all but Dean was being so serious and solemn that Sam knew this wasn't about catching him out. Dean just... hadn't been thinking how messy or embarrassing this could be for his little brother. Sam was sure Dean had been running on the blunt imperative to get him something he could keep down that'd be hot.

"That's okay," Dean reassured calmly. Sam watched his brother, his concern growing at each passing minute, wondering if Dean was actually going to spoon feed him soup with a straight face. If so, something wasn't just off here. Something was flat-out  _wrong._

"Dean?"

Dean grabbed the bowl of soup, its contents sloshing over the rims a couple times.  _Dean_  didn't seem strong enough to hold it, Sam realized.

Dean grimaced, frustrated with his hands' lack of stability, and sidled up closer to Sam so he wouldn't have to carry the spoon very far.

"Dean," Sam said again, trying to get his brother to snap out of it and just look at him for a second. "Are you-"

Dean interrupted Sam with a grunted cough and finished with, "okay here," as he spooned the soup a few times until it was a full bite. He lifted it out of the bowl and the spoon's contents fell over the blankets before Dean could even start directing it towards Sam.

"God damn it," Dean whispered, annoyed, and tried to scoop another spoonful.

Sam scrutinized his brother, tilted his head to the side, eyes squinting, trying to get a gauge on him.

" _Dean_."

Dean stared into the soup, trying to get his hands to stop shaking so he could feed his little brother. Sam was still cold, he hadn't eaten anything in the past day, and he'd been on the brink of death not five hours ago. The saline solution had been a good start but there was so much he needed to do and it had to start with this god damned soup.

He let go of the spoon and flicked his hands out angrily, trying to release stress and stop the trembling.

If he couldn't even do this - if he couldn't even feed Sam right now how else was he going to inevitably fail his brother and bring him back to the brink of death again?

Dean went back to spooning the soup, trying to keep steady.

"Dean, put the soup down, man," Sam said reasonably, his tone almost back to normal. Dean winced and his eyes started to water.

These trials deceived. Sam could already be developing new symptoms that wouldn't show themselves for what they were until it was too late. Sam sounded fine - he sounded  _so good_ right now but how long would that last? And how badly would Dean treat him when it came to pass? How would he fail him next time?

Dean stirred the soup, stalling another display of the shakes, rationalizing that it was too hot for Sam anyway.

He felt like God was personally looking down at them and saying  _Fuck you Dean_.  _You said your goodbyes. Sam was ready to die but I'm keeping him alive for one more day just to fuck with you. Give you twenty-four hours of hope and then I'm going to take him. Take him to heaven. Where you can't reach him. Where you can't_ hurt _him._

"Dean," Sam pressed, his voice insistent. Dean ticked a visible grimace, still staring down then shook his head. He didn't know if he was denying his thoughts or Sam's voice. He fought tears back but they broke free anyway. He had to get it together, stifle his emotions, blink his thoughts away because Sam still needed him.

Dean tried... tried as hard as he could. He focused on his breathing and tracked his heart beat but no matter how much effort he put forth, his hands wouldn't stop shaking. It rendered him useless with this god-forsaken soup and so Dean simply kept stirring it, frustrated, breaking the soggy noodles into smaller and smaller pieces which he knew Sam hated but he couldn't stop.

Sam was alive, looking at him right now, depending on him and so Dean... Dean had to do  _something_  - he had to feed the kid soup - because as fucking simple and easy as eating was, Sam still just couldn't do it on his own.

Unable to cope with the loss he thought he'd be enduring right now - Dean had been so sure Sam was going to die - the weight of his responsibility to Sam was slamming home. Subconsciously it was the shakes and now consciously Dean had to admit to himself that, try as he might, he had no final say in whether Sammy would die. He had no choice, no control, no  _recourse._  Dean had just  _held him,_ doing nothing, without any regard for the future, every ounce of him feeling just as dead or dying as he'd thought Sam had been.

Dean had thought he'd lost Sam twice before but it'd never been like what'd happened this morning. It'd never been just him and Sam together in the events leading up to it. Dean had never faced the cold hard truth that bad things could still happen to his baby brother while he was on the clock.

Dean felt a hand land lightly on his shoulder. He flinched and looked up to find himself staring straight into Sam's eyes, unable to hide the unbridled fear in his expression. Sam had managed to lean forward and keep himself upright without the head board against his back. His eyes glistened with deep sympathy, sporting the expression Dean, if he were in any way composed enough, would call his 'puppy dog look.' Sam tried to pull himself closer to his brother by scooting forward.

"Dean, Dean I'm okay," Sam whispered, keeping his eyes locked on Dean just as much as Dean had zeroed in on his. Dean stared at him, clenching his jaw nervously, knowing what Sam was doing but unable to put up a front against it like he normally could...

"I'm okay," Sam repeated, gripping Dean tighter by reaching across his back and with very little strength but enough of it to work, tried to tug his big brother towards him. Dean remained unmoved, the last vestiges of strength keeping him still and unwilling to break.

"Dean, please? I'm okay, I promise, I'm okay," Sam said weakly, his own voice breaking, the sound of which finally managed to break Dean. His face screwed up and he looked away just long enough to lean over and set the bowl onto the bedside table. Coming back he grabbed Sam around the waist without regard and pulled him against him with a barely muffled sob.

Dean only ever cried silently. It drastically contrasted with Sam who tended to be a mess when he broke down. Sam's sounds could telegraph his pain well enough  _without_  the jolts and shakes of sobs tearing through him but Dean was different. For Dean you could only tell through hitched breaths and small shudders, breathy whimpers and choked off cries.

Sam felt his brother collapse in over him, overwhelmed, holding him like a child because Sam was still physically weaker but this embrace was different... Dean was the one clutching _Sam_ , not the other way around and Dean needed  _Sam_  right now whereas all the other times it'd been Sam needing  _Dean's_  stability and comfort.

Sam couldn't return the strength of Dean's embrace, his muscles fatigued and weak, so he did what he could with his voice as Dean hung onto him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Sam kept repeating, caught under his brother's hold as Dean started to rock them, needing to feel the kid alive and aware in his arms. Needing to hear Sam tell him over and over again that he was all right and still with him.

Sam bit his lip, his own eyes starting to tear over the sounds of his brother's hopeless anguish. He realized that coming back had been a bittersweet victory for Dean. That nothing Dean had done had brought him back to health. That they were both helpless in the face of this thing.

If something could shatter Dean's sense of control over  _anything_ , what'd happened this morning was it. Sam realized that all that was left now was his big brother, fraught with fear, clinging to him and praying to any higher power that'd listen to keep his brother safe and healthy and alive because Dean didn't think he could do it anymore...

Sam realized that that had to change.

"Dean it's okay, I'm okay, I'm feeling better, I promise, Dean," Sam's voice teetered on the edge, feeling so sorry for ever having wished Dean would take the trials and his illness more seriously. He'd found strength in acknowledging his death but Dean... Dean only found deep, toxic, crippling fear and sorrow.

Dean held onto his little brother, unashamedly grasping him tighter as he listened to the kid's voice, the voice he never thought he'd hear again.

"Dean, Dean listen to me. You were right, okay? I'm gonna get through this. I swear I'll survive this. S'just temporary - like you said. It was just... really... bad this time-"

Dean choked off a laughing sob and Sam smiled and angled his chin over the back of Dean's neck. Obviously it'd been worse than 'really bad' but neither of them had ever been too eloquent. Blunt, but not eloquent.

Dean sniffed a few times and stopped rocking them. He rubbed Sam's back for a minute or so before he could speak.

"I thought you were dead," Dean breathed.

"I know," Sam replied softly, consolingly, "I'm not."

Dean gave another wet laugh and cupped his hand over the back of Sam's head.

"I know," Dean sniffed.

"And I'm not gonna be."

"Okay," Dean breathed weakly.

"-Because you're with me."

With that line Sam felt Dean shake a couple times and he wasn't sure whether his brother was chuckling or holding back sobs.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean huffed and Sam could hear a hint of resolve in his tone. Sam tried to hug Dean a little more.

"Nothing bad can happen with my big brother around, right?" Sam asked, knowing that that, if anything, would get a reaction.

A reaction it did, with Dean letting himself laugh - however lightly, however brokenly - he still managed to laugh.

"God," Dean dragged the word out using the same tone - albeit it wet and crackled from tears - that he normally used in conjunction with rolled eyes. Sam felt one of Dean's hands move off of him and he could tell Dean was wiping his face.

"Such a bitch," Dean said, making Sam grin as his brother sniffed and blinked himself back to normal.

"Jerk," Sam whispered smugly. He felt Dean shake his head, feigning weary disapproval. A second later Sam felt Dean's hand against his head again, patting the tangled mop down a few times before giving a heavy sigh.

That was Sam's signal to let go were this any other situation but Sam was still limp as a dead fish when it came to full body strength. Dean had been holding  _him_  up the whole time even though Sam had been the one providing comfort.

"Okay I'm gonna... set you down," Dean said disjointedly, angling around to make sure Sam would land where he needed to.

"Okay," Sam replied softly, willing to be steered. Dean let Sam lean forward against him as Dean set the pillows up against the headboard again. He shuffled Sam back up.

"'Kay, you're good," Dean murmured and Sam started to lean back, finding the pillows against his back an instant later. He watched his brother carefully as Dean tucked him in just as tightly as he had before. Dean's eyes were watery, red and swollen but the tear tracks along his face had mostly been wiped away. He was still sniffling but in the aftermath of a meltdown like that it was a reasonable aftereffect.

Dean finished and pulled off. Still sitting on the edge of the bed near Sam, he bent over and placed his elbows on his knees. He covered his face with one hand and let out a deep sigh, exhausted.

"I'm sorry, man."

Sam, genuinely troubled by the apology, shook his head.

"No don't be-"

"I'm just..." Dean trailed off, about to say, "tired," but knew that'd sound ridiculous. He left the sentence hanging, allowing Sam to finish it with whatever word he'd like.

"I know," Sam said solemnly. He didn't offer anything more. He just let Dean get it together for a few more minutes. Eventually Dean looked at his hands and let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

"I'm still shaking," he said, clenching and unclenching his hands, trying to get them to stop.

"That's okay," Sam said openly. Dean sniffed and coughed, nodding as if in agreement. It was okay. He'd just get Sam something else to eat that didn't require steady hands.

"Ya still hungry?" Dean asked, suddenly worried that Sam's appetite had lessened.

"Yeah totally," Sam lied eagerly. "Starving."

Dean's eyebrows lifted, skeptical yet hopeful.

"Really?" Dean asked warily.

"Yeah," Sam said, expertly faking his most genuine expression.

Dean watched and licked his lips before looking back down at the ground, nodding absently.

"What... um... What d'you think you could hold down right now?" Dean said hesitantly, struggling to resume his role.

"I don't know. What can you make?"

Dean shrugged, still looking at the floor.

"Oh I could... do those... those ham and cheese roll things, remember those?"

Sam remembered. Their bread would occasionally go moldy too soon, leaving them with ham and cheese only. Sam wasn't ever really positive about whether it was because they couldn't afford another loaf of bread or just because Dean was lazy - either way, Dean found an enthusiast in Sam for cheese rolled up into slices of ham when they'd been young. It'd be an easy snack to down. It still was.

"Yeah. Yeah Dean that's fine," Sam encouraged. Dean had tilted his head to see Sam's response. At Sam's words Dean gave a small crooked smile and nodded. Another sigh and he slapped his knees before shoving up to stand.

"Okay," he said, looking at Sam and his space, checking to see if there was anything more he could do before he left. He licked his lips again, finding nothing, and looked back at Sam. "Okay I'll be right back."

"Okay," Sam said, giving a tentative smile, dimples clear and deep after all the weight he'd lost. Dean returned it with his own. There was still with a semblance of sadness in it but it was a start.

Dean turned away and left Sam's bedroom for the kitchen, slightly shocked about what'd just transpired... and even more shocked that he was already feeling better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	23. Cold War Fallout Part I

Sam was propped against the headboard with the plate of ham and cheese wraps in his lap. Dean had made several so the eldest was eating them too as he sat along the side of the bed beside his brother.

They were both quiet for awhile, thinking their own thoughts as they snacked. Dean had absentmindedly asked if they were good and Sam nodded as he'd taken another bite. No - he wasn't hungry but Dean needed to see him eat.

After a few minutes, after Sam had finished his third and reached for a fourth, he had admit he was feeling better. He realized that there in fact  _had_  been a hollow in his stomach that he'd mistaken for illness when it'd actually been an appetite.

Now that he was getting something in him, things were clearing up. His confidence was coming back and he knew the next time Dean would furtively glance at him he'd return it with a smile.

Sam reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and shakily brought it to his mouth.

"So what do you want to do now?" Dean asked, startling Sam enough to have him dribbling water. It'd been so quiet that his brother's voice had jarred him. Sam took a few gulps and set the bottle back on the table before answering.

"I wanna move," he finally said and casually started to wipe his hands off with one of the many paper towels littering the bedspread.

"What you mean?" Dean asked, mouth full.

"I wanna move back to your room," Sam said confidently. Saying it in any other way would just give his brother that much more ammunition. As it was he couldn't meet Dean's eyes and he knew his cheeks were reddening so he just kept looking down, suddenly meticulous with the paper towel.

Dean didn't say anything, letting the awkward silence fill the room at Sam's expense. Finally, Sam glanced up to see Dean's eyebrow raised, an amused, sly smile playing on his face.

"Shut up," Sam said wearily as he rolled the paper towel into a ball. He looked up again to see the same stupid, knowing grin on Dean's face. " _Shut up_ ," Sam repeated and threw the ball at Dean's face. Dean started laughing but refrained from commentary. Sam, peeved that without any verbal cue Dean could still make him feel like a sap, couldn't stifle the need to justify himself: "If you didn't want me to like your mattress you shouldn't have put me in it," Sam defended, his lips tipping into a sideways smile. It was a good tactic, Sam reminding Dean that he'd been the sap to put Sam in his bedroom in the first place. Unfortunately a good comeback is only as good as its audience deems.

"Uh huh," Dean said knowingly, totally ignoring Sam's excuse, as he continued to laugh at Little Brother's expense. Sam cinched his mouth to the side, trying not to smile. Dean's laughter was infectious. Sam realized with a pinch of sadness that he hadn't heard it in awhile.

Dean relaxed and leaned back along the foot of the bed, smiling. He picked lint off the bed sheet.

"It's cool. I'd rather we move you back too... Can keep a better eye on you," Dean offered. Sam twitched a smile, pleased, before launching into banter.

"So you can nag and bully me-"

Dean looked back up.

"-into getting healthy," Dean protested indignantly.

"Yeah whatever you're mean."

"Well you're weak so suck it up," Dean replied easily, his smile somehow kind despite the insults.

Sam made a face and moved the plate off his lap. He sat up straighter and started to assess his own strength while gauging the effort it'd take to get up under his own steam.

"What're you thinking?" Dean asked, seeing the look of determination that'd started to surface on his little brother's face.

"I... I think," Sam leaned forward and pushed the covers off while moving his feet out and over to touch the floor. Dean sat up straight, cautious but not altogether worried. Sam seemed just fine. "I think I can get up. I feel like I can," Sam said as he sat up straight against the edge of his bed, his feet planted firmly on the ground. Only then did he look to his brother, a tacit request for permission. Dean's eyebrows lifted.

"You sure?"

Sam nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah," he huffed a laugh, acknowledging how unbelievable it seemed. It'd felt like years since he'd been able to walk around on his own. Dean pursed his lips in consideration and got up.

"Okay let's take it one step at a time," he coached as he faced Sam and held his hands out.

Sam shook his head and leaned back. Dean was crowding him so he couldn't stand up on his own even if he wanted to.

"No... Dean... I don't need your help," Sam said and immediately regretted how he'd worded that.

"Tough," Dean shot back. He didn't sound mad though so that was good. Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes wide and plaintive.

"Don't give me that," Dean laughed.

"Dude seriously I don't need a walker," Sam promised.

"Well last few times you needed a  _wheelchair_. And also I'm not a walker," Dean added matter-of-factly. He stared Sam down, arms outstretched. Sam sighed heavily in capitulation and grasped Dean's arms below the elbows.

"You are," Sam said, readying himself to get up. He gave Dean a double-take when he realized his older brother looked confused. "You're gonna be my human walker," he grumbled in clarification as he felt Dean's grip adjust and tighten securely. It was easier for Sam to hold onto Dean; his older brother was wearing a plain white t-shirt whereas Sam was still wearing a long-sleeved shirt under a heavy navy blue hoodie.

"I'll let go once I think you got it," Dean said evenly, thoroughly ignoring his brother's taunt.  _He's too good at that_ , Sam idly thought to himself.

"Okay." Sam leaned forward and put weight first on his right side - his strongest side - to get up. He felt Dean's arm give a little under the weight but then steady out as he made his way upright.

"Good job, you got it," Dean encouraged lightly as Sam sorely lifted himself up with his brother's help. "Dude that's awesome," Dean said as Sam reached his full height. He was shaky and leaning into his brother but he was standing on his own two feet. Grinning, he looked at his brother.

"You're short again," he breathed then started what could only be described as raspy cackling as Dean's empathetic expression of delight turned to a sullen glare.

"Don't try my patience, Sammy," Dean warned without heat. Sam looked away to finish laughing at his own joke before turning back to his brother. The mischievous glint in his eyes remained and Dean did a mental victory fist-pump.

"Okay... think you can walk?" Dean asked, resuming business. Sam's expression grew pensive as he looked down at his white-socked feet. They were both clad in lightweight sweats - Dean's were a slate gray and Sam's were maroon. Paired with the sweatshirt he was wearing Sam looked like he was back in college.

"Yeah," he said, starting to take a step with his left. Dean immediately coordinated, backing up with his right.

"Good," Dean murmured, watching Sam shift his weight and plant his foot. "Now right," Dean instructed even though Sam was already halfway there. "Very nice, good," Dean kept up the impartial encouragement as they moved past the foot of Sam's bed.

Sam found it unsettlingly easy to receive Dean's praise. It'd been years since Dean had taught or coached Sam on anything but he supposed it was just ingrained. Most of Sam's "firsts" were taught by Dean: how to ride a bike, how to swim, make forts, brush his teeth, use a microwave, lock doors and put down salt lines, play sports, even how to read and write: Dean's teachings had given him an edge for years in elementary school and beyond. Later, in adolescence, it was Dean that'd always had the patience and tenacity to teach his recalcitrant little brother sparring techniques he hadn't gotten the hang of when Dad had been there. How to shoot, how to drive, how to talk to girls, how to just generally  _handle_  their dad (although that one Sam could never really get right).

Dean continued the litany of encouragement and instead of embarrassment or shame, Sam found himself just automatically shifting back into his role, his motivation naturally boosting every time his big brother reported he was doing well. It was a weird reenactment of nostalgia that wasn't entirely unwelcome. Rather, it was surprisingly pleasant. Sam kept his head down - so Dean couldn't see him - but Sam was even smiling as he listened to his brother and watched his legs and feet carry him in a shaky yet rhythmic pace for the first time in what felt like ages.

It occurred to Sam then that Dean had been there for another crucial - and relevant, given their current circumstance - "first." Dean had been there when he'd taken his first steps as a child. He didn't remember personally but he'd read in Dad's journal somewhere that his first steps were into Dean's arms. Sam wondered if Dean remembered - if he was maybe remembering that right now...

As it happened, Dean wasn't at all thinking about that. Sam was using Dean more for balance and navigation than strength now and Dean couldn't have been happier. He had to look over his shoulder a couple of times to make sure he knew where the doorway was but once they got into the hallway things were smooth sailing.

While Sam waxed poetic in his own mind about Dean teaching him random things, Dean went on praise autopilot while considering his view of Sam's miserably knotted and tangled hair. Inwardly, he was simply cursing its length and hoping Sam was going to do something really obnoxious so it'd warrant a retaliatory prank of cutting that rat's nest off while he slept. Odds were low on that front so Dean just had to settle for being grateful that it was at least clean now.

They'd cleared several feet from the doorway to Sam's room when Sam spoke up.

"What the hell-?"

"What?" Dean looked down and saw a lone pillow against the wall of the hallway where he'd been camped out. He'd have claimed he must have dropped it at some point or another were it not for the damning walkie-talkie standing perfectly upright nearby. "Oh uh..." Dean tried to stall.

"Were you-?"

"Shut up."

Sam laughed quietly, still putting determined effort into their walk.

"I can't believe you did tha-"

"Dude I was pissed. Wanted to make a point. Didn't mean I'd  _actually_  go AWOL on your sorry ass."

Sam's brow furrowed but he kept walking. A few seconds later and his balance went off-kilter for a second, his emotions getting the better of him as Dean's words sank in and the significance of Dean's hallway camp-out fleshed itself out in his mind.

"Whoa hey - you okay? Sammy?"

Sam nodded and barely managed to answer in the affirmative.

He'd really thought Dean had left him to deal with his suffering alone. Dean had been so angry and then so distant and clinical that Sam had really thought Dean didn't want to take care of him anymore. He could admit to himself now that he'd felt lost and scared at the turn of events - Dean's belligerent then dismissive attitude... It'd been while Dean was just like  _four yards down the hall_  that Sam had had to realize that his worst fear wasn't dying from the trials. It was dying from the trials  _alone_... in a room that held no comfort, a body so weak he couldn't walk or eat, and with no one to care enough to witness his last breath if it came on suddenly...

Sam faltered again and squeezed his brother's arms.

"Hey okay, hey Sammy?"

Sam didn't respond and Dean stopped them, worried.

"Sam?" Dean asked, dipping his head down to see Sam's face. His hair concealed his face but Dean heard him sniff and swallow. "Sam! Is something wrong - are you hurt?" Dean asked suddenly, his voice razor sharp.

"No," Sam responded immediately - always responded immediately - to that tone of voice. Sam's 'no' had been raw though and Dean grimaced, confused. He straightened and looked around. "Okay, ahh..." he hummed, weighing his options and deciding on the wall, "okay yeah let's just... just take a breather, okay?" He asked calmly, trying to get Sam to respond to _that_  tone as he angled the kid's back against the wall. As Sam leaned on it his grip on Dean lessened. Dean kept his hold.

"Sammy?" Dean tried again, gently squeezing Sam's arm. "Sam?" He tilted his head down to get a glimpse of his little brother's expression. Sam sniffed again, his eyes watery.

"I thought you'd really gone," Sam croaked quietly, still looking down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	24. Cold War Fallout Part II

"What?" Dean asked, completely unaware of what Sam was talking about.

"I thought - when you left..." Sam trailed off, hoping that was enough to clue Dean in. Apparently it was and Dean let out a relieved huff of amusement. Sam pursed his lips, not finding anything funny about what he'd said.

"I can't believe you believed me," Dean said reassuringly, coming closer and squeezing Sam's arms. Sam could tell his brother was smiling with the way he spoke... but instead of soothing it just came off condescending. Time seemed to stop as Sam's fury shot from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. He looked straight up at Dean, his eyes wet, his entire expression was pained as he flipped his hands out sharply, angrily appealing to his brother.

"What the fuck, Dean!?" He yelled, pushing his brother off. Dean backed up, a look of confused hurt on his face. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"What? I thought you would've been happy to hear I hadn't left you," Dean asked, slightly annoyed but it didn't hold a candle to his fuming sibling.

"So it was just a ruse? You just wanted me to  _think_  you were a total asshole?"

Dean squinted, his eyes fixed somewhere above as he thought about it. It would've been funny in any other circumstance.

"Yeah," Dean dragged the word out, shrugging, then looking back to his brother with an apologetic wince.

"What if I'd died?" Sam's voice boomed, his eyes daggers.

At that, Sam touched a nerve.

"You almost did and I was there, Sam," Dean snarled back.

"No Dean," Sam interrupted, his teeth gritted.  _That's not the point,_  was unspoken but Dean read it loud and clear. Sam shook his head and gazed back at where Dean had been. "What if I'd had a heart attack?" Sam murmured then looked back at Dean, his anger dwindling in the face of the disturbing hypothetical. "What if... What if something had happened fast. Too fast before you-" Sam stopped, knowing Dean had gotten the gist and unwilling to finish the thought out loud.

Dean blinked.

"Sam all your symptoms have been relatively slow. And these are all for the trials - so you can live to close the gates - I never thought-"

"No you just didn't  _think_ ," Sam shot back severely.

"Sam, I was right there the whole time!" Dean yelled, pointing down the hallway.  _C'mon_ , Dean thought,  _I've got to get some points for that_.

Instead Sam's expression shifted at his brother's outburst, his eyes plaintive, everything in him wishing Dean would just  _get_  it. When Dean had sequestered him he had made Sam so much more vulnerable. And now he finds out that Dean had been playing him the whole time? For what? Psychological torture?

Sam drummed up all the anger he had left in him to respond.

"How-"  _shit_ , Sam thought, hearing his own voice betray him: it was threatening to crack at any moment. He kept looping the words 'psychological torture' around and around in his head and it was getting to him that Dean had been the one to do it. "-the  _fuck_ ," Sam overcompensated, "was I supposed to think you-you-you," Sam stuttered emotionally, waving his hand down the hallway, unable to get his words out as Dean slowly moved into his space. Sam leaned back a little, shaking, his lips quivering, eyes on the brink of tears. "-were just... fucking..." Sam stopped, distracted as Dean started rubbing a hand up and down Sam's arm, his expression brutally sympathetic. Sam would've folded then, his heartbeat clamoring to just give in at the gesture of affection, his lips and words trembling, but with one last burst of outrage he finished: "-fucking  _camping out_  in the god damn  _hallway_!" Sam's voice pitched and shaky, his composure lost but at least he'd gotten his sentence out.

"-I'm sorry," Dean followed Sam's last word immediately. It was a calm, honest and collected apology, several notches down on the volume scale Sam had risen to. Sam swallowed roughly, his hurt hazel eyes landing on Dean's. Sam's jaw clenched, overwhelmed, but at least he could see in Dean's eyes that his brother meant the apology. Dean kept up the arm rub and Sam wished he could twist away from it. Instead he looked down the hallway again and stared at where Dean had stationed himself. He'd deliberately quarantined Sam and risked him to a painful death alone. How could Dean have done that?

Sam's eyes were watery, his throat hoarse and raw and as he just stood there thinking about it, staring at the walkie talkie, realizing that Dean had used it to further mess with him by making him think he was going to be consistently absent and in some other location of the bunker... Sam felt a tear roll down his cheek. Dean caught sight of it.

"Sam, I'm sorry," Dean repeated in the same serious, consoling tone. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."

Hearing Dean's genuine apology affected Sam more than he expected. He'd grown up being called the sensitive one, the drama queen, constantly told to suck it up and quit bitching or whining. His emotions dismissed and discarded so often by his father, treated only with tolerance at most by Dean. For Sam, it was practically old hat to receive vague, unfeeling platitudes like, "it's gonna be okay, you'll see."

But now Dean was flat-out apologizing sincerely. Something like that came around so rarely and suddenly instead of mollifying things it just felt like a confirmation that Sam had endured a terrible injustice at the hands of his older brother.

Dean had taken advantage of Sam's condition and used it against him to make him feel worse. He'd been mean and manipulative while Sam could barely raise a hand, much less his voice, against him. Then Dean had let Sam think he was completely on his own, facing the unknown but probably painful future symptoms of the trials without any emotional support or even the bare minimum comfort of knowing his big brother was nearby.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, moving his hand up to Sam's shoulder. Sam cringed away, wincing, looking like he was about to cry. Dean tugged him towards him gently: if Sam wanted a hug all he had to do was lean into it. "Sam? Really. I'm sorry," Dean promised. Sam let out a gasped whimper and finally let Dean pull him in with a small cry. He wrapped shaky arms around his brother and tried to absorb the affection he'd lost. After a few seconds of silence as Dean just held his little brother, he started talking.

"You almost died this morning, Sammy," Dean said, "because I wasn't there. I would've known your temperature if I'd been by your side. We would've caught it before it got as bad as it did."

Objectively, Sam couldn't disagree with his brother on that. The symptoms of hypothermia had started right after the bath: Dean would have caught it. If it hadn't been for their fight, Sam may also have eaten the grilled ham and cheese sandwich Dean had made for him.

None of that was why he was upset though.

"You have no idea... how sorry I am, Sam," Dean struggled to stay even but Sam caught the break in his voice. Sam sniffed and blinked away tears over Dean's shoulder, reaching for a better grip on Dean.

"I don't care that you missed the symptoms, Dean," Sam murmured tiredly. Dean hugged Sam tighter but he stayed silent. "I just didn't want to die without you," he whispered, "on bad terms."

"Listen to me," Dean said quietly, matching Sam's volume, "we are never on bad terms, Sammy."

Sam choked a disbelieving laugh and Dean's hand lifted to the back of his neck. Sam pressed his cheek against Dean's shoulder and felt another tear break free.

"I'm serious. I... Sammy, I'm so sorry that I made you think we were," Dean said solemnly, rubbing Sam's back and Sam hugged his brother, coming very close to breaking but managing to hold it together because in spite of all this, he and his brother were okay.

They kept the embrace for awhile; Dean didn't want to be the one to step back from it. He had to give Sam the time he needed. Finally, his little brother spoke up.

"You should be," Sam croaked and let out a soft chuckle.

Dean closed his eyes in relief, understanding that he'd just been forgiven.

"I know," Dean agreed solemnly but he smiled over Sam's shoulder, feeling like things were going to be all right. He rubbed Sam's shoulders and just as Sam thought they were going to detach, Dean gave a curious relenting sigh over his back.

"And Sammy... if you  _do_  die," Dean said calmly and Sam tensed in his arms, "I'm going to be right there with you. You're not going to die alone. I promise," Dean finished, his tone despairing. Somehow this pierced Sam more than anything else. He'd wanted to hear Dean say that all along but the  _way_  Dean said it made Sam want to demand that his brother take it back.

"Okay," Sam sniffed. "But I'm not going to die," he said firmly and suddenly Sam nearly gasped at the new-found strength in Dean's grip. Instead he just let out choked-off laughter as he tried to return the embrace.

"That's what I like to hear," Dean murmured, smiling. He loosened his grip to let Sam breath and rubbed his back. "Okay, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said, wiping his eyes, starting to pull away. He'd lost some tears but neither of them had fully broke down. This had been a surface crack that'd had to heal before it hit foundations.

Under any normal circumstances they would've just fumed and gone their own separate ways: Sam to a library or for a walk, Dean to a bar. They'd reconnect the following morning, the previous night's fight easily glossed over, any leftover tension bottoming out with each new discussion over where to eat breakfast or Smurfs versus Fraggle Rock or creating new code words during the drive...

But in this case with what they were going through, neither one of them could afford the luxury of being too far apart. Sam's condition - these trials - had been taking a toll on the brothers' normal coping mechanisms from the start but if Sam's near-death experience had proven anything it was that the only right thing to do was to stick together. Both of them were stressed and exhausted. Anger required energy they were slowly losing and it left them both just plainly emotional.

Anything between them that would've had them huffing away to get over alone normally would be coming fast and quick now in the bunker from here on out. They'd have to just confront it, hug it out - because fuck words when you're this tired - and move on.

Through this embrace, this new standard was set solid. In order to be so close, they'd have to adapt and so, at a very basic level of awareness, the two of them, in their own minds yet at the same time, understood and accepted the terms as they pulled away from each other.

Dean kept his hand on Sam's back, watching with a guilty, crooked smile as Sam rubbed his eyes out.

"You sure, now-? You're okay-?" Dean asked and Sam gave a wet laugh. Blinking up at Dean he gave a weary yet pointed thumbs up.

"Elated," he deadpanned and Dean smiled softly, still rubbing his little brother's back. "You?"

"Yeah. Awesome."

Dean pulled his arm away from Sam to rub his eyes. When he finished he looked openly at his brother.

"You still feel okay? Should I get the wheelchair?"

"No-no-no- don't get the wheelchair, I can do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah just..." Sam reached out, "help me," he murmured, leaning forward into Dean as Dean grasped his arms under bent elbows and took his weight. Sam took a step forward with relative ease.

"Hey all right awesome," Dean said, impressed, and just like that they were back to it, shuffling down the hallway, Sam as focused as ever while Dean resumed his role as personal trainer slash human walker frame.

A couple of minutes later they were still at it.

"Almost there, tiger, you're doing great," Dean said. Sam grunted in acknowledgement.

"Feel like an old lady," Sam said, still looking down, his posture hunched forward over their arms.

"Y'look like one too," Dean offered. Sam huffed a laugh and kept moving.

Sam had broken the stream of Dean's coaching in favor of banter so Dean changed tack accordingly.

"Dude your hair's a fuckin' mess, man."

"S'what... happens when... you don't use... conditioner," Sam managed. Dean wasn't concerned about his brother's halted response: he could tell the kid's strength wasn't depleting; he was just out of breath from sore muscles and lack of exercise.

"You realize that's a product only sold to women, right?"

"Bite me," Sam huffed. Dean smiled. They were getting closer to his bedroom. The banter was quickening Sam's pace.

"No, but I could give you a haircut in your sleep."

"Don't you dare," Sam whispered as if Dean had just said some unspeakable evil. Dean snickered.

"Okay," Dean finally said calmly, looking over his shoulder to gauge the doorway of his bedroom. "We're almost there."

"'Kay," Sam breathed.

"So what do you want to do after we get you set up?" Dean asked genuinely. Sam shook his head.

"I dunno."

"Hungry?"

"No."

"Tired?"

"Not really."

"Uhhh..." Dean hummed in thought, "oh shit, stop, hold on," Dean said suddenly, realizing he'd almost taken them past the doorway. He squeezed Sam's arms and angled him in. "You good?"

"Uh huh," Sam replied, still focusing properly and coordinating his movements well. They stepped into Dean's room and Sam glanced up to check out the familiar surroundings. His eyes landed on the mattress.

"Did you make your bed?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, what, you don't?"

" _You_  don't!"

"Well I don't give a shit about motel beds," Dean answered dismissively, leading Sam over to the side of the bed. "Nobody cares about  _motel_  beds-" he muttered then shouted, "Don't - no - don't sit down yet!"

Sam had been about to collapse onto the mattress.

"What, why?" Sam flat-out whined over his brother, having lost all sense of his age and causing Dean to actually laugh aloud at the sound as he pulled the sheets down.

"Okay you're good," Dean said, still smiling. He tried to spot Sam's descent but Sam just belly-flopped onto the bed and laid still, appreciating the feel of the memory foam contouring to his body. He closed his eyes, trying to bliss out on at least this one good thing.

"Dude your bed is awesome," Sam said, his voice muffled but the genuine awe was unmistakable. Dean walked to the foot of the bed as he unfolded a second, heavier comforter he'd grabbed from a shelf.

"Dude, I know right?" Dean said just before he flipped it out. With a quick  _whoosh-phumph_ , Dean blanketed all six foot four of his brother. The startled and helpless  _ah!_  sound from Sam underneath the heavy cover managed to get Dean laughing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	25. Nightmares

Dean's eyes were closed under the covers but his mind couldn't stay still, flashing and strobing the past twenty-four hours. Leaving Sam in tears, running in to find him curled up in bed screaming in agony, pulling the kid down into the center of the bed and checking him over helplessly, hugging him against his chest willing every ounce of warmth to pass into his freezing cold little brother as he died...

Sam's wispy, barely-there 'I love you.'

Dean singing their mother's favorite lullaby as he watched Sam fade away, his soft, final reassurance that Sam could sleep...

Dean grimaced in the dark, trying to get the memories out of his head. He was already running on fumes. He needed to sleep. He breathing in and out, slow and steady, trying to release tension.

Sam was okay. Sam could walk on his own two feet now. Sam was asleep right next to him, breathing easily and warmed by the five blankets Dean had piled on top of them. They'd both settled into Dean's room quickly, Sam especially falling asleep before the aliens even appeared in Independence Day.  _Guess almost-dying takes a lot out of you_ , Dean thought numbly.

The older brother had watched the movie for awhile longer, the presence of his little brother sleeping soundly comforting him more than he cared to admit. A couple times Sam would twitch restlessly in sleep and Dean felt justified placing a gentle hand on the kid's shoulder. It helped; Sam would relax and still under Dean's touch.

Soon the older brother had found himself wavering on the edge of consciousness. He turned off the TV, lazily punched his pillow a couple times and settled down on his side. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see Sam's silhouette. The kid was faced away from him on his side, his breathing even and calm.

Dean wanted to keep the moment.

* * *

Dean was right on the verge of full sleep when the mattress jerked. Dean's eyes snapped open and Sam's body twitched and curled.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, reaching his hand out. Before he touched Sam's shoulder, his brother flipped onto his back with a gasp. Dean could see a light sheen of sweat on his face, his breath uneven and heavy like he'd been running a marathon.

"Sam?" Dean asked again, louder this time. He put his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed.

"Nah...no..." Sam breathed, tilting his face away from Dean.

Dean raised his body under his elbows and reached for Sam's face.

"Sam, Sammy," he urged quietly, "wake up, kiddo," he asked, palming the kid's cheek. Sam shuddered, shaking his head back and forth under his brother's hand.

"Please... no... please..." Sam was nearly crying.

"Sam c'mon! It's a nightmare, Sammy," Dean called, still holding his brother's head and sitting up now to add a hand to his chest. Sam writhed, scared and desperate in the dream until somehow Dean's words clipped it off. Dean found himself staring into Sam's open eyes, full and alert and confused.

"Dean?" Sam gasped but his breath was normalizing already. Dean sighed with relief.

"You okay?" Dean asked, unwilling to move off Sam until he knew. Sam looked around then back up at his brother.

"Yeah I think so... What happened?"

Dean rolled his eyes and slipped his hands off his little brother to lie down next to him.

"Just a nightmare, Sammy. Go back to sleep," Dean whispered.

Sam tipped onto his side to face Dean in the darkness.

"How'd you know I was having a nightmare?"

"Because I'm batman," Dean said, smiling blandly in the dark. He felt Sam's hand shove his shoulder.

"Dean seriously," Sam said, his voice raspy, over Dean's snickering.

"S'nothing, Sam. F'it happens again I'll let you know, okay?"

A long pause. Dean didn't know if Sam was deliberating over the agreement or falling back to sleep.

"'kay," was all that came from his exhausted little brother. The latter then, Dean thought.

...

Sam jolted awake on his back, gasping for air, his throat clenching and releasing like he'd been crying. He didn't know exactly what he'd been dreaming. All he knew was that he felt weak, vulnerable... humiliated and tainted with something he desperately needed to purge out of his system.

"Sam," he heard his brother whisper at the same time he felt an anchoring arm wrap over his chest. Grounding him back to reality.

Sam assessed reality. He was in bed. In the bunker. Safe with his brother right next to him, the familiar weight of Dean's arm and the blankets keeping him down settling his nerves. Sam wanted to curl into it, hold back onto it until the aftereffects of the nightmare wore off.

"Sammy," Dean's voice called out again sleepily. Sam lifted his hands to his face and wiped off tears. Dean's grasp around him grew stronger, a tacit request for his brother to answer him.

"Yeah," Sam said wetly, quickly trying to stifle sniffs and gasps. It didn't work and Sam could feel Dean's hand spread their fingers out along his side, his arm losing its sleepy dead weight and becoming more of a concerned, bracing hold.

"You're shaking," Dean said, his voice clearer now. Sam could sense his brother's head tick up off its pillow. Sam really was shaking, his hands shivering as he wiped his bangs off his face and rubbed his running nose.

"I'm not cold," Sam assured but his voice was gravelly and uneven. Dean lifted up next to him in the dark and Sam let his brother feel his neck and forehead with the same competent touch he'd grown accustomed to. When he was done Sam heard his brother let out a small sigh.

"So just another nightmare?" he asked softly. Sam swallowed, slightly embarrassed, and nodded.

"Yeah s'just a nightmare. Sorry," Sam said and turned around onto his side, his back to his brother. "'M fine," Sam added quietly. Dean patted him on the shoulder.

"Okay," Dean replied simply and Sam could feel him lie down again. It didn't escape his notice that Dean settled down closer to him in bed. Taking the cue, Sam pretended to adjust his position and moved a fraction of an inch closer to Dean too. Neither of them were touching but it felt better anyway. Sam thought that maybe falling back to sleep with the conscious knowledge that his brother was so close would stop the nightmares this time around.

* * *

Dean was dead to the world, sleeping like a log, when Sam, speaking in his sleep, woke him up again. Dean could barely register what was happening, his mind clouded, his subconscious screaming at him to just go back to sleep.

"Please... Please... No not that please..." Sam whimpered and suddenly the mattress jolted Dean out of his stupor and wide awake because Sam was jerking in spasms. It wasn't like a seizure though. His movements were sharp and reactive like if someone or something was inflicting pain. Nightmare, then.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean sat up and quickly pulled the lamp's flimsy cord to turn the dim light on. He swiveled back to his brother and burrowed under the covers to pull him into his arms.

"Sam! Sammy wake up, c'mon," Dean coaxed, wrapping his arms around his brother. Sam had been on his side in the bed, curled into a ball, shivering. As soon as Dean had pulled him into his lap he'd started garbling words - complete gibberish - until it just started sounding like he was choking on his own tongue.

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean muttered, alarmed, and maneuvered Sam around to fall forward over Dean's forearm so as to make sure Sam  _wouldn't_  choke on his own tongue.  _Was that even possible_? Dean wondered.

"Wake up!" Dean yelled, now completely dismissing the possibility of a gentle re-entry into reality for his little brother. Whatever was going on needed to stop  _now._  "Sam!" He roared, shaking the already trembling body in his arms.

Suddenly Sam stopped struggling, stopped moving but for the heavy shivers Dean could feel wracking the kid's entire body.

"Sam? You okay?"

Sam kept shaking but he remained seemingly fixed in time, hanging over his brother's arm.

"Sammy," Dean whispered and made the unilateral decision to pull his brother back up to lie again his chest. Sam made a pathetic mewling sound as Dean started moving him.

"It's okay, it's okay," Dean promised and Sam just gave a small whine and suddenly clung onto Dean's arms that were wrapped around his stomach and chest. Dean pulled him up.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean asked, light but serious at the same time. Sam was still shaking but it was clear he was out of the nightmare.

Sam grunted miserably and froze. Dean could feel his brother's entire body just  _stop_  for a second.

"Sam what? What is it?" Dean asked, worried.

Sam made a wheezing sound that ended with a whimper. Quickly breaking out of Dean's grasp, he turned around to face him, kneeling on the bed. His eyes were wide, face pale with sleep and shock, as he clutched at his throat. Still slightly sleep-deprived, it didn't really click for Dean until Sam started trying to speak and ended up just opening and closing his mouth, small gurgles and whines and... undeveloped animal sounds issuing forth instead. Dean's stomach dropped at the revelation and he was too tired - and they'd dealt with too much already - to hide his reaction.

"Oh no," Dean murmured lamely. Sam put a hand to his forehead, overwhelmed, eyes flashing around in no particular place, frantically thinking, and unconsciously making distressed noises in between heavy panicked breaths.

As soon as Dean reconciled this new turn of events he observed his brother and realized that while Sam couldn't talk, the sounds the kid made were all he needed.

Sam was still holding his head in his hands, his mind whirring, when he heard his brother.

"Sam," Dean whispered, reaching out and gently taking one of his wrists. Sam let him, trembling, and understood when Dean pulled him towards him. Sam leaned and, already hunched into himself, crawled a knee or two in closer so Dean could give him a hug.

Dean could feel Sam's worry radiating out of him as he sunk in against Dean's chest, shivering with insecurity. Because although Sam didn't remember the nightmare, this still didn't mark the first time he'd been rendered mute. The lost ability was unconsciously associated with the torture he'd endured in the cage and it'd always been framed as a punishment. If he uttered anything even vaguely rebellious, Lucifer would cut his tongue out and continue the scenario until he got bored and left, only restoring Sam's body and senses right before the next scenario commenced.

Sam knew he was safe, that this was reality and he was no longer in the cage, but he held on to Dean tightly, needing his brother's presence to wash the sense of humiliation, the conviction that this was a punishment and that he'd been bad, away.

Dean was getting better at this kind of stuff every hour, it seemed like. He never rejected Sam, always allowed Sam the time he needed, and instinctively just knew how to use words and gestures to calm his kid brother down. Sam was a full grown man, as was Dean, but this experience was whittling them down to the core basics of who they were and why they cared so damn much about each other.

Dean whispered reassurances while his heart grew heavy, thinking about how compromised this new symptom would make his little brother. The thought that he wouldn't be able to fully explain or communicate any further symptoms was terrifying. If they were fast onset, Dean would be shit out of luck unless they were obvious.

It didn't matter. They'd deal with it. And Dean had to find the silver lining for Sammy because he was pretty sure that no matter how hard he hugged him or whispered platitudes he was giving right now, the kid was still shaking like a leaf in his arms.

"You in any pain?" Dean finally asked.

Sam grunted lowly and shook his head against Dean's shoulder.

"Okay that's good," Dean replied easily, "right?"

Sam replied with a halfhearted, doubtful mewl and Dean couldn't help but chuckle quietly.

"It's okay. It's all right, Sammy. We'll figure it out, okay? If it's not painful, we're still okay. We just work around it," Dean promised. Sam sniffed and gave a small nod.

After a few more minutes, Dean could feel Sam start to settle down, his heart beat going back to normal, the shakes easing under his arms. Dean rubbed his back.

"Must've been some nightmare, huh?" Dean joked quietly and Sam gave a derisive huff of laughter that ended with a strangled cry. Dean put a hand against the back of his head and Sam leaned his face closer against Dean's neck.

"Let's try to get some sleep. Maybe it'll be gone in the morning okay?" Dean asked calmly, deliberating ignoring Sam's audible sniffs to keep composure. When he finished asking though Sam reacted to Dean's suggestion with a pained whine.

"The nightmares won't come this time, I promise," Dean said. Sam sniffed one last time and broke away from Dean to give his brother a weary red-eyed look that mixed curiosity with suspicion perfectly.

"C'mon get under the covers. I'll show you," Dean said patiently, pushing his own legs down into the mass of blankets. He lifted the covers up, a tacit invitation to his little brother who was still kneeling on the bedspread, sporting the same look.

Dean looked at the clock then back at his brother.

"Sam I don't care if you're deaf, blind or dumb. It's two AM," Dean said frankly. Sam cinched his mouth to the side, unsure and nervous that with another nightmare like tonight's, his next symptom  _would_  be deaf or blindness.

"Sam. Trust me," Dean asked, sincere. Sam took a few seconds but Dean held his gaze. Eventually he blew out a sigh of surrender, threw his hands up and crawled forward to get under the covers. Dean leaned backwards to turn off the light as Sam settled down on the same pillow in the same position he'd been in before. The only difference was that now he wanted to face Dean on his side. As lame as it sounded, Sam just wanted to be able to see his brother.

Dean waited a second or two to see better in the dark. As he turned back around he found Sam facing him and stopped.

"Sam, turn around," Dean asked casually. Sam made no sounds and Dean couldn't see his face but Sam was undoubtedly reluctant to turn away. Dean just waited him out, not interested in sharing. Doing would be enough of an embarrassment.

Sam finally gave an annoyed huff and turned around. He hadn't even gotten his head settled on the pillow when he felt Dean shove up against his back and wrap his arm around Sam's chest. Sam let out a small gasp, surprised, which quickly morphed into guttural chuckling noises.

"Shut up," Dean blurted sharply, sounding pissed, and Sam started humming giggles at his brother's expense as Dean pulled Sam's body against his chest. Despite his laughter Sam snuggled up against Dean to get comfortable as his big brother did the same. "If you ever tell anyone - Oh wait, you can't," Dean quipped smugly and Sam stopped laughing. At the abrupt, halt of sound which sounded distinctly sullen since it was Sam, Dean started laughing and playfully wiped his hand down Sam's face, a thing they used to do to each other when they were kids. It drove them both nuts as children but using it now was a signal - a way to tell Sam that Dean was just messing with him.

Sam still blustered at the move and Dean chuckled as he gave his little brother a brief hug. Any remaining tension in Sam melted with it and he allowed himself to relax, sink into the mattress and feel the security blanket that now was  _literally_  Dean covering and protecting him.

Sam could feel his brother's heartbeat, his warmth, hear the steady, even sound of his breath. Sam was safe, taken care of, loved. All he needed to do or think about or worry about was going to sleep now. Dean could take point on the rest.

Sam idly tried to sync his breath and heart beat to Dean's. Slowly, he began to float away to sleep, calm and secure, listening to the rhythms of his big brother's life beating and breathing against him.

Dean was right. If anything could stop his nightmares, it was this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	26. No One Can Hear You

Well, the joke was on him and Dean would have the last laugh, Sam thought dully as he realized how they were sleeping. At some point in the night Dean had rolled off Sam to spread out on his back. Sam was currently curled into the fetal position on his side facing away from Dean. That would've been fine if his back wasn't entirely lined up against Dean. Also if he wasn't holding Dean's arm like it was a stuffed animal, using his big brother's shoulder like a pillow.

...Where even  _was_  his pillow?

Sam blinked groggily, looking for it, and that's when he realized he'd been drooling in his sleep... on Dean.

He hurriedly wiped his mouth and did his best to rub the drool off his brother's shirt. It would still be damp but maybe Dean would think it was sweat or something...

In his haste he didn't realize Dean was waking up until he murmured lowly, amusement tinging his tone.

"You were drooling on me weren't you?"

Sam tried to say no. Instead it just sounded like an indignant whine.

 _Oh shit,_  Sam thought, remembering he couldn't talk.

Dean seemed to be right there with him.

"Still can't talk huh?"

Sam shook his head. Dean sighed and nodded.  _Just one more thing, wasn't it_?

Ready to get the day started, Dean pulled his arm out from under Sam.

"Sweet Jesus!" Dean hissed, clutching his arm and flexing his hand, "oh my god, dude, were you sleeping on my arm all night?" He muttered in mock exasperation as he got over the pins and needles to click the bedside light on. Sam watched and noted the time. They were miraculously back on schedule with the rest of the world. It was seven in the morning.

The eldest brother slumped back to his pillows and favored his arm, bending the elbow and moving it around to get blood flowing, all the while glaring at Sam accusingly.

Sam, helpless and mute and with eyes that were looking far too much like a young canine's, shrugged.

"Don't give me that look," Dean admonished sullenly. Sam smirked and sat up straight. He scooted his way to the side of the bed and set his feet down on the floor.

"Sam, wait fo-" Dean stopped, watching Sam rise to a stand with perfect ease. The youngest brother turned around to look at Dean, practically glowing. He gestured to his chest with his hands and mouthed  _I'm okay!_  with a brilliant smile. Dean hadn't seen it in awhile and couldn't help returning it.

"Well holy shit look at that," Dean laughed as Sam paced around freely, his natural grace intact. It was... it was awesome.

Only... now as Dean observed his little brother standing and walking around, he realized Sam was a hell of a lot skinnier than he'd ever been before. His heart sank as he realized that Sam would grow weak again soon without food. He wasn't going to share that with Sam right now though: he didn't want to rain on the kid's parade (literally) right now...

"So what do you want to do?" Dean asked excitedly, getting up as well. Sam turned to face Dean, eyes wide and bright. He opened his mouth, then shut it as a shadow of disturbed confusion came over him, then snapped at Dean. Dean blinked and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Sam pantomimed turning something in front of his waist, then made what Dean thought what were explosion noises as Sam reached above his head and did jazz hands down over his face and body. He looked back up at Dean with an expression that could only be interpreted as this phrase:  _you get it Dean?!_

Dean folded his arms and made a face, not getting it at all. Sam rolled his eyes and stomped his way to get a towel before leaving the bedroom. It took a three-count until Dean realized Sam had been trying to make water-gushing noises, not explosions. _Shower!_  Dean thought,  _Sam wants to take a shower._

"I get it now," Dean snapped in good humor as he walked into the corridor after his brother. "Sam I get it!" Dean called down the hall and Sam threw him a thumbs up before he disappeared into the bathroom. Sam was moving fast and Dean didn't blame him. They didn't know how long his strength would last: best to get in and out of the shower as quickly as possible before anything went awry.

Fair enough but as the door clicked closed it occurred to Dean that he needed one more answer out of his brother.

"Ho wait-wait-wait Sam! Sammy!" Dean called and banged on the door once. Sam opened it, eyes wide and curious. "What do you want for breakfast?"

Sam made a face, put his mouth to his hand and shook his head, then gestured at Dean:  _I can't speak. Anything, dude._

"Gotchya," Dean said comically and took off down the hall at the same time Sam closed the door.

Fifteen minutes later Dean had thrown the last scraps of practically everything in the kitchen into an omelette. It was almost finished frying when Sam walked in, hair combed, clean-shaved, wearing jeans and a gray long-sleeved Henley.

Dean turned and gave a double-take at his brother.

"Hey," Dean drew out the greeting, impressed, "lookin' good," he complimented. Sam grinned, delighted, and landed heavily onto his seat at the kitchen table. Dean tilted his head to the side and aimed the spatula at his brother.

"Y'all right?" He asked, using his serious voice. Sam was focusing on the table, trying to bring his breath back to normal. "Sammy?" Sam nodded at that and gave an A-OK sign before looking up at his brother, a curious expression on his face. He looked around pointedly, then turned back to Dean and pretended to write on his left hand.

"Oh! Um," Dean looked around too now, unable to find anything. "You want me to go get you some?"

Sam nodded and gestured to himself and his breathing.

"Okay hold this," Dean offered Sam the spatula, "I'll be right back. Make sure it doesn't burn," he added and Sam gave him a thumbs up.

Dean was back in less than a minute, one of Sam's legal pads and a pen in hand. He set it down on the table and they seamlessly switched utensils - spatula back to Dean, pen to Sam.

Dean could hear Sam scribbling and contented himself with frying the omelette properly. Just as he was about to get it out of the pan and onto Sam's plate, he heard Sam give a deliberate cough. Dean ignored it, focused solely on making sure the thing wouldn't fly off onto the floor until Sam he felt the legal pad hit him in the back. It fell to the floor and, disgruntled, Dean swore and set the frying pan down on the granite counter top to turn around.

"What the hell, dude?"

Sam looked at him, frustrated, then stared at the legal pad on the floor pointedly.

"Doesn't mean you can just  _throw_  it at me," Dean snapped, grabbing the pad from the floor and flipping it to the front page.

"Have our phones been on or have you checked your email at all?"

Dean stared at the question, confused. He looked back to his brother.

"No. Been busy, why?"

Sam cinched his mouth to the side for a second in thought, then reached for the legal pad. Dean pulled it away from him.

"Promise you don't throw it at me again."

Sam smirked and crossed his heart with his hand.

"Uh huh," Dean replied suspiciously, slowly handing the pad back to his annoying pain-in-the-ass little brother.

He'd missed this.

When Sam hunched over to start writing Dean turned back to the omelette. He served it up to Sam with salt and pepper shakers and a couple paper towels before pouring the remaining yolk mix into the pan for his own omelette. That's when he felt the legal pad slam against his back again and fall to the floor with a resounding  _slap_ sound.

"Uhhh I'm gonna kill you," Dean gritted out, turning around to pick the pad up from the floor without even looking at his brother. He could hear Sam's snickering as he read.

"Wherever Cas and Kevin are now they might've contacted us... or anyone else for that matter. I'm feeling fine except for the voice thing. Do you know if Garth is still AWOL?"

Dean shrugged and looked up at his brother who was watching him anxiously and hadn't yet taken a bit of his breakfast.

"Sam, what the hell. Eat, man," Dean complained, gesturing at the food. Sam nodded and turned to the food but kept Dean in sight. Dean re-read what Sam had written. "I don't know about Garth but yeah we'll check up and see if anyone's reached out. After breakfast, okay?" Dean planned lightly, then shifted his gaze to Sam. Sam gave an A-OK and dug into his meal. Dean was glad that passed muster: Sam would've normally argued to check the computer right that instant but Dean didn't want Sam to have any distractions from food.

Turned out distractions probably wouldn't have made a difference. After Dean finished making his omelette, he was thrilled to see his brother eating like he was starving. It was _awesome._  He'd given Sam a large serving too so the kid was more than set until lunch. Dean would still be sure to pepper snacks into the hours in-between though. Sam really needed to gain weight.

Not exactly a nutritionist, Dean was literally wondering  _Doritos? Would Doritos be okay?_  when Sam finished his meal with a satisfied grunt, pointed at his empty plate, and gave Dean another A-OK sign. It translated to "perfect" in this context though and Dean smiled. Sam stood up and gestured to the general vicinity of the library and raised his eyebrows, tacitly asking permission. Dean was in the middle of swallowing the a bite of his own omelette but nodded and waved Sam off.

"Yeah go 'head dude I'll be in in a minute," Dean managed. Sam gave a quick smile and a thumbs up and left, giving Dean some time alone.

The eldest brother ate the last small bits of his breakfast and sighed, pushing the plate away from him. He leaned forward and put his face in his hands, thinking about everything they'd been through. How this simple, uncomplicated moment alone knowing his brother was still alive, walking around on his own two feet, still sick but on the mend - it'd felt like an unreachable prayer just... God. Just two  _days_  ago.

If Dean thought about where they'd been then compared to where they were now in only that small span of time...

Well, now Dean  _was_  thinking about it and he was getting emotional. He coughed, cleared the watery mist from his eyes by rubbing at them and got up to clear the dishes away.

* * *

Dean walked out into the library and immediately heard sharp snapping noises. Dean turned towards his brother and found Sam freaking out over something on the computer. Still, snapping?

"Don't  _snap_  at me," Dean grumbled indignantly, picking up his pace. Sam gave him a look and switched to loud, cacophonous clapping for him to get over there and Dean cringed at the jarring noise.

"Okay seriously stop it," Dean murmured as he came around to face the computer monitor. Sam had a video pulled up and clicked 'play' as soon as he knew Dean was watching.

"Sam, Dean. I've set up this message with some software on a remote server so it'd send itself to you if I didn't reset it with a command once a week. Which means I didn't reset it this week. And there's only one reason I wouldn't. Which means if you're watching this, then I... then I- I'm dead. I'm dead, you bastards! So screw you, screw God and everybody in between!

Crowley must've gotten to me. And the one thing I know is that I won't break this time. Not sure how I know, but... but I do. I've been uploading all my notes, the translations, I'm sending you the links so you can get all of it. You guys are gonna have to try to figure out the rest. I'm sorry. I know it was my job but I - but I couldn't...

I'm sorry."

Dean stared at the monitor for a second.

"Wait but he's not dead, right? Cas said he was kidnapped."

Sam looked at Dean, stricken by the emotional video, and shrugged. Dean watched him write on the legal pad: "We don't know 100% either way."

Dean swore and slammed the table. He started pacing as Sam clicked on all Kevin's links. A minute or two later Dean heard more sharp snaps and walked back up to look at the computer. Instead Sam held up his legal pad: "I want to print this stuff out and do some research. Maybe we can figure out what the third trial is ourselves."

Dean lifted an eyebrow at his brother. Sam huffed back at him, determined, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Fine," Dean murmured and settled down next to his brother at the table. "The day you're good to get up and walk around I should'a known you'd want to research," he muttered and disregarded the shove to his shoulder Sam delivered in answer.

* * *

It was nearing two in the afternoon when Castiel appeared. Dean had zoned out awhile ago after he'd made sure Sam had eaten lunch. Sam's appetite was as voracious as ever though so Dean found himself asking Sam to pace himself a little bit maybe. Now Dean was sleeping, his feet on the table, head tilted over the back of the chair, mouth wide open. Dean hadn't bothered getting dressed like Sam was. His loose sweats suited him well for the uncomfortable nap he was taking.

Sam on the other hand kept on working, feeling much better and so pleased to be active and healthy enough that Dean could relax.

Well, until Castiel appeared. He hadn't even heard the angel until he spoke.

"Hello," he greeted, startling Sam. The youngest brother turned in his chair and stood up to approach the angel, desperate for answers. That's when he realized that he still couldn't talk.

"Sam?"

Sam gave a 'one second' gesture and turned back to his brother to shake him awake.

"-Nonono not like mermaids, you idiot-" Dean grumbled until Sam slapped him. Dean cried out as Sam shoved his feet off the table to land numbly on the floor. "Ow!  _Dude!"_ Dean yelled, pissed, "What the  _hell_!"

"Dean," Castiel spoke. Dean jumped again and stood up.

"Cas!" He called, then stopped to think, blinking his thoughts back together, "Where's Kevin?"

"I have him. May I bring him into the bunker?"

Sam nodded enthusiastically and Dean agreed.

"Yeah yes absolutely - is he okay?"

"Somewhat," Castiel said evenly, betraying nothing. "I can only bring him to the entrance of the bunker. Humans are barred from entry without going through the portal first."

Sam mentally logged that as a question to ask later when he could speak: how could Cas just zip in and out of the bunker? Wasn't this place warded against  _everything_?

"Sure thing but-" Dean stopped when Cas disappeared mid-sentence. Dean turned to his brother.

"What the hell does 'somewhat' mean?"

Sam shrugged. Dean sighed angrily and started moving upstairs. Sam followed after him and Dean glanced at him when he took his first couple of steps. It was too much exertion for him, Dean could see it in the way he moved.

"Sam. Stay there I'll bring him down," Dean ordered lightly. Sam looked up and huffed, defeated. He nodded and backed off.

When Dean got to the bunker's entrance, he cranked the door open and found Kevin hanging off Castiel, completely unconscious.

"Holy shit, Cas, is he okay?!" Dean asked, alarmed, as he reached out to help. The two of them brought him through the threshold of the entrance and Cas just vanished with Kevin again.

Surprised, Dean rushed back downstairs just in time to see Cas appear with Kevin  _right_  next to a seated Sam who'd gone back to studying one of Kevin's print-outs. At their sudden arrival, Sam let out a guttural cry of shock and nearly fell over in his chair as he tried to stumble up and out of it. Dean would've been laughing for ages if they didn't have more important things.

Dean came forward and Sam's extremely wide, concerned eyes fixed on him, depending on him to communicate with Cas about what was going on. Dean nodded imperceptibly and Sam regarded it, trusting him.

"Cas. What's going on?" Dean asked bluntly. Sam rolled his eyes but Cas began to speak so Dean figured it worked.

"I can't stay long. I found Kevin, got him away from Crowley."

Sam started scribbling on his legal pad and Cas's face morphed into confusion.

"He can't talk," Dean supplied. Cas looked to Dean, then back to Sam.

"Sam, just pray to me."

Sam threw his pen down and lightly smacked his forehead. He stood up and, looking at Cas, prayed his question.

"Crowley was trying to get Kevin to translate the second half of the demon tablet," Cas answered.

Dean watched the exchange, impressed.

"No, he didn't. Or hasn't. I don't know he might... be able to now..."

"Wait what?" Dean asked, not understanding now.

"Kevin hasn't translated the third trial," Cas explained. "When he comes to, he might be able to. In the meantime I'm going to try to find someone."

"Who?" Dean asked at the same time Sam prayed the same question. Castiel blinked and sighed.

"Metatron."

"He's still around?!"

Castiel shrugged.

"He might be," he said, a note of finality in his tone. It was a shot in the dark but there was nothing more he could do. But as the only able-bodied agent, he felt obligated to do _something_.

"Crowley tried to kill Kevin. I saved him just in time. He's healed but still weak. He'll wake up soon. I want to leave him here with you, is that acceptable?"

"Yeah, 'course. You sure you don't want to take a minute too?" Dean offered, worried about how haggard his friend looked. Sam felt a similar sentiment and though he didn't pray it to Cas, the angel sensed it just the same. For the first time Cas managed a small, infinitesimal smile, touched by the invite.

"Thank you but... no. I must go."

Dean kept his gaze fixed on the angel, assessing the sincerity of Cas's words. He seemed to rule them honest because the following words were his.

"You know where we'll be," Dean said evenly. Cas looked into Dean's eyes and locked onto them. Pulling from the honorable strength of their kinship, he sighed confidently and stood up straighter, his smile widening by just the smallest measure.

"Yes," he confirmed. And then disappeared.

Sam and Dean directed their attention to their new charge sprawled on the chair in front of them. Sam inwardly cursed his mutism, wishing his appraisal of the train wreck before them could be voiced. Then again, this was his brother. If anyone could read his mi-

"What a hot mess," Dean muttered, folding his arms and staring at the boy. Sam smiled and nodded in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time!


	27. No One Can Hear You Part II

Kevin awoke to something he'd never heard before: a soft-spoken Dean.

"-evin, Kev, c'mon, bud," Dean coaxed and Kevin felt a soft pressure on the crown of his head. He tilted it once, felt it move, then jerked away, wide awake and alert, trying to figure out what it was.

Dean's hand. It was just Dean's hand.

"Dean," Kevin said simply as he tried to gather his bearings. He was lying on a soft leather burgundy couch, Dean was seated in front of him on an expensive-looking carved wooden coffee table. The place smelled good - a bit musty but still cozy. It was warm. The room was... Victorian style elegance.

Kevin closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Where are we?"

"Men of Letters bunker," Dean supplied easily. He wasn't overdoing anything. Just answering Kevin's questions when he asked but otherwise letting him put himself together. It was... strange, Kevin thought. Normally Dean just barked orders and demands, grumbled obscenities and frustrations over Kevin's inability to grasp reality...

Still, Kevin wasn't going to question it right now. Still lying down, he blinked up at the high vaulted ceiling. A chandelier twinkled about eight feet above them.

"Uh," Kevin grunted, "you guys been holding out on me," he mumbled.

"Sorry," Dean murmured, smirking. He squinted with sympathy and leaned slightly closer to Kevin as he calmed down. "You okay?"

"Yeah... I think. What happened?" Kevin asked, slowly rising to sit up straight on the couch. He looked past Dean and finally noticed Sam, seated in an armchair and paying close attention. He hadn't spoken yet though.

"Cas zapped you out from Crowley's hands and landed you here to recoup," Dean explained succinctly. Kevin nodded vaguely, then shook his head with disbelief. Dean let a beat of silence pass. "Do you remember any of it?"

"Uh," Kevin stalled, rubbing a hand over his face, then shook his head and shrugged, "not much."

"Well," Dean said, leaning back to sit up straight. He swiveled to get Sam in his eye line, "that can only be a good thing, right?"

Sam looked at Dean and shrugged, nodding in agreement. Dean ticked his head and shrugged back. He turned towards Kevin again and leaned over to grab something that'd been laid out on the arm of the couch. Kevin squinted, still a bit foggy, but figured out it was a stack of clothes.

"We scrounged around to find anything that might fit you. S'not much but you might want, like... a shower... change of clothes..." Dean trailed off as Kevin looked at the state of his clothes. He'd been wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, a lightweight khaki jacket. All of it had been stained with blood and dirt and... whatever else. Kevin didn't want to think about it.

Clearly miserable, he looked back up at Dean who added softly, "maybe a shave," as he gestured comically to his own face. Kevin sighed, knowing he hadn't shaved in forever, and nodded, reaching out to take the clothes.

"Thanks."

Dean smiled as he passed the clothes off and again Kevin felt like pressing 'pause' on this wildly uncharacteristic behavior.

Dean's smile was actually kind.

* * *

Kevin got out of the bathroom feeling better than he had in a very long time. Still using a towel to dry his hair, he walked back out into the study wearing a gray robe he'd found among the selection of clothes given to him. When he walked out Dean took one look at him and slammed the chair he'd been balancing on down to the floor.

"Please God tell me you're wearing something under that," Dean demanded. Kevin stopped, a deer in headlights, then looked down at the robe. That was enough of an answer for Dean.

"That... That's my robe," he complained weakly, then grumbled, "God damn it, Sam."

"Sorry," Kevin replied, uncertain. Annoyed, Dean waved at Kevin, dismissing the apology. He leaned forward to look at the page of the book he'd been reading as Kevin moved towards the table.

"Where's Sam?" Kevin asked hesitantly, sitting down across from Dean. Dean sighed lightly and looked at Kevin.

"Went down for a nap."

Kevin couldn't help but smile, incredulous.

"Really? Sam takes naps?"

Dean's expression met Kevin's with no matching humor.

"He does now."

The serious tone of Dean's voice tipped Kevin off that he didn't know the whole story.

"What do you mean?"

"Sam's sick, Kevin."

"He looked fine to me before-"

"He can't talk. That's his only symptom right now. But more will come-"

"How do you know?"

Dean sighed again and put his hands in the air in lazy defeat.

"Because it's the trials. Until he finishes the third trial, he'll be suffering. He's almost died a couple times..." Dean trailed off, unwilling or maybe unable to keep going.

Kevin thought about it and nodded.

"So... that's what you guys've been doing all this time? Just... making sure Sam's okay?" He ventured. He wasn't judgmental, just curious.

"Basically," Dean replied, tracing the edge of the table with his finger. He looked at Kevin, an entirely new expression on his face and Kevin was simply surprised to be caught in it. "You up for helping me out?"

"Yeah of course," Kevin replied immediately. He'd been worried Dean was going to ask him to cut his arm off or something with the way he'd been looking at him.

Dean pursed his lips together and nodded, a slight smile on his face. It felt to Kevin like he was coming to the conclusion that he could trust him and Kevin, despite himself, felt... kind of... honored.

"Okay I just have a couple things to ask of you," Dean said, leaning forward, getting down to business. Kevin unconsciously mimicked Dean's posture, engaged.

"First priority, we have to figure out the third trial."

"That's a given," Kevin remarked dismissively.

"It may be a given but it's the very first priority, do you understand?" Dean didn't waver. Kevin swallowed and nodded, eyes locked on Dean's.

"Yeah."

"Okay good. Second priority?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to go on a couple of errands."

* * *

Kevin was stocking the kitchen of the groceries he'd gone to get. The day had taken so many twists and turns and it was still late afternoon, around four-thirty. He and Dean had talked some more and Dean had essentially given him the day off of research: Sam wasn't in pain and Kevin was exhausted.

Kevin wasn't completely on board with getting out and picking up food for everyone though. He hadn't been out in the real world for ages, he'd been tortured and manipulated by Crowley, and he was quite frankly scared.

Dean talked him around though. He'd given him an amulet they'd found in the bunker that would hide his presence. He even let Kevin drive the Impala which was a new one on him.

"Okay... who are you and what have you done to Dean?" Kevin had asked and Dean gave a small huff of laughter before warning him not to joke about shit like that.

Kevin had agreed in the end and gone to the local mom 'n pop grocery store a couple of miles away. It was oddly therapeutic, walking around, picking up these very mundane items, feeling like a normal person.

That sentiment continued as he pulled the foodstuffs out of their bags and placed them in the right locations of the kitchen. A sharp pang streaked through him as he realized how much he desperately missed his mom...

His thoughts, turning darker and more grief-stricken by the moment, were interrupted by Sam walking in with his laptop. Kevin glanced at him and stopped to laugh inwardly at the sight of him. Sam was wearing a hoodie now and just a pair of light blue boxer shorts. Kevin had never seen either of the brothers in anything other than like four layers of heavy fabrics. It was weird seeing the angry self-righteous Dean Winchester in just sweats; the forever guilt-ridden and troubled Sam Winchester in friggin' boxers...

"Hey Sam," he said haltingly. Oblivious, Sam just walked to the kitchen table. "Um, can you hear me?" Kevin checked. Dean hadn't mentioned whether or not Sam could hear. He'd just said Sam couldn't speak.

Sam was blinking sleep out of his eyes and nodded absently as he set the computer down. He sighed tiredly as he sat down in front of it. Kevin just watched. Sam was obviously still coming out of it from his nap so Kevin just resumed unpacking.

"So, like, is it a... psychological thing?" Kevin asked, obviously referring to Sam's muteness. Sam, more alert now, gazed at Kevin openly. He shrugged and made a face:  _no idea_.

Kevin nodded and turned to the last bag of food. He heard Sam typing on the computer as he threw packages of ground beef and sausage into the freezer.

"What do you want to make for dinner?" A computer's electronic voice sounded off loudly in the kitchen, making Kevin jump. He turned around to find Sam grinning blearily at him. Kevin returned the smile. Sam had figured out a way to speak after all.

Kevin wondered if Dean knew...

"Hey where's Dean?"

Sam gestured towards the rooms then put his hands together against his tilted head:  _sleeping_. Kevin nodded. Dean had told him he was on the same schedule as Sam so it made sense.

"So, dinner?" The computer asked. Kevin looked at Sam and shrugged.

"Sandwiches?"

Sam made a face, clearly displeased, then turned to the laptop to type.

"How about stir fry?" The computer's voice echoed under the kitchen acoustics.

"Yeah sure," Kevin smiled, thinking about the ingredients and knowing they had pretty much anything Sam would want. Sam smiled widely.

Ten minutes later they were at the kitchen table chopping vegetables in preparation. Sam was, as usual, silent but focused. Kevin could see he was going slowly with the knife and followed suit. The last thing anyone needed was the sight of more blood.

In the middle of chopping, Kevin figured it was as good a time as any to ask the question he'd been wondering since he'd arrived.

"So, um, Sam. Can I ask you something?"

Sam continued chopping the mushrooms but he gave a couple unmistakable nods.

"When did Dean become a Care Bear?" Kevin asked, laughing slightly at the last word.

Sam didn't look up. He just huffed, smiling, as he continued to chop.

"Seriously though. The last time I saw him he was... intense. Giving me meds, telling me to power through everything. Now it's like he's not even the same person..." Kevin trailed off as Sam sighed and stopped cutting. Sam scrutinized the prophet then turned to his computer.

"What do you think he's like now?" Sam asked. Kevin wasn't sure if he was getting baited but Sam's honest expression of curiosity allowed him to feel comfortable answering. He shrugged.

"I don't know. He's... like... nicer. He gave me the day off of doing any research even."

Sam quirked his eyebrow.

"I know, right? It's... He's different."

Sam sighed again and shrugged. He turned to his computer and started typing out a long answer, choosing his words carefully. When he finished, he didn't let the computer speak for him; he just turned the laptop around so Kevin could read it.

"It's always been a facade. Dean's a good person. More than that, he grew up taking care of people. He's rough only as a defense mechanism. Lately we've had to deal with stuff that's been tearing it down. For awhile now he's been working in a different mode. It's extended to his behavior with you."

Kevin read and reread Sam's answer, then looked up. Sam gave him a wan smile and went back to chopping.

"What's... been tearing it down?" Kevin asked tentatively. Sam raised his eyebrows and casually gestured to himself with the knife. "Yeah... I, um, I heard you almost died?"

Sam froze but before Kevin could backtrack he resumed his actions on the cutting board, nodding silently.

"You seem great now though," Kevin said immediately, injecting as much cheer into it as possible. Sam gave him a wary look and typed into the computer.

"Let's hope it lasts."

Kevin looked up from the monitor to find Sam giving him a sad expression. It was clear Sam thought of this as a temporary reprieve. Kevin didn't really know how to respond and let the silence linger for longer than he should've. Finally, he spoke up.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice small and guilty for having brought it up at all.

Sam finished the mushrooms just then and huffed a laugh, looking up at Kevin to smile kindly at him. He shook his head, amused, and reached for the laptop to type something in.

"Now who's the Care Bear?" The computer announced. Kevin gave a small chuckle as he watched Sam add something to the message. "I'm totally telling him you called him that by the way."

Kevin's reaction made Sam actually choke out vocal laughter before he got up to grab the wok hanging on the wall.

"No! Sam! Don't please!" Kevin begged. Sam shook his head, grinning widely, and teasingly pointed at Kevin as if to say  _you said it_.

Five minutes later and the stir fry was sizzling quietly. Kevin was at the kitchen table playing on the computer while Sam handled the wok with expert care. It was starting to smell great and Kevin had said as much, adding that Dean would probably wake up to it. Sam smiled and nodded. He took a second to lean over Kevin to type out "we should add bacon just for the hell of it." Kevin agreed wholeheartedly and pulled some out to fry on the second stove top.  
The stir fry was measuring up to expectations in every way, almost perfectly cooked; the first round of bacon had been flipped and was almost ready. Kevin was expecting Sam to turn to him any minute now and ask him to go get Dean. Eventually Kevin decided he would just make the offer to go get Dean. Right as he opened his mouth to speak the wok clattered loudly onto the stove top from Sam's right hand.

"Sam?" Kevin asked, then jumped up from his seat when Sam didn't answer; just continued to stare at his right hand.

"Sam what's wrong?" Kevin asked nervously. As he approached he saw what Sam was looking at. His right hand was involuntarily flexing itself in and out of a fist.

"Sam!" Kevin called and Sam jerked to look at him. With his other hand Sam reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to Kevin. Confused about Sam having pre-written notes in his pocket, he opened it.

In Sam's precise handwriting were three simple words, all in capital letters, that made Kevin's blood run cold: GET DEAN NOW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	28. No One Can Hear You Scream

Kevin looked up from the piece of paper with wide, worried eyes but Sam was already mouthing the word, "Go!" as he took a single bare-footed step away from the oven.

Kevin didn't need to be told a third time. He raced out of the kitchen and left Sam standing there staring at his hand.

"Dean!  _Dean_!" Kevin shouted, making his way through the study and into the hallway. "Dean!" He screamed, his own shrill voice freaking him out, flat-out panicking.

Kevin nearly collided into Dean at the threshold of his room but Dean braced his shoulders and physically cushioned his stop of momentum. Dean's eyes were sleep-shocked but he was alert.

"Where is he?" Dean rasped heavily.

"Kitchen!" Kevin practically yelled and Dean let go to shoot down the hallway. Kevin tore off after him.

As they approached the kitchen Dean nearly slipped a corner in his socks. He used the side of the doorway to swing his body faster into the room and somewhere in the back of his head Kevin was impressed. When he got to the entryway, Kevin halted. He was desperate to help but he didn't want to get in the way. He caught his breath as he watched Dean run straight to... the stove?

 _Oh right_ , he thought as he watched Dean twist the stove top knobs off. Dean turned to his brother then and Kevin glanced around for any other potentially dangerous turned-on appliances in the kitchen. The table had the laptop open and running. The bacon and stir-fry were still on the stove, the pleasant crackling sounds dissipating with the burners now turned off.

And Sam. Sam just stood there in his hoodie and boxers, his brother right in front of him, a couple of feet away from the oven. Kevin's worry escalated as he realized Sam's entire right  _arm_  was now shaking uncontrollably.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. He'd been murmuring to Sam before - Kevin hadn't heard any of it but he guessed it just hadn't been working on Sam. This time though - with Dean yelling at him - it worked. Sam flinched.

But then that was it. Dean braced his brother and Kevin unconsciously folded and gripped his own arms tight. He moved in closer to them, inching his way around to see Sam's face as Dean tried to snap him out of it.

Sam shook under Dean's hold but worse than that: Kevin could see the dread welling up in Sam's eyes as he stared into Dean's and he watched as Sam started making an effort to talk. Confusion and fright bled into his already pained expression.

"Sammy, c'mon..." Dean murmured then stopped as he saw Sam using his left hand to point at his head. Kevin was baffled but it looked like Sam was trying to tell him something. He prayed Dean would get it because the brothers were scaring him. Dean, still pale from sleep in his sweatpants and t-shirt, trying to understand his brother and Sam, his body shaking from his arm's strange reflexes, trying and failing to communicate.

A split-second later the proverbial bulb lit above Dean's head. Kevin knew because he immediately leaned into Sam's space, altering his hold on him so he was holding Sam's waist and back, not his shoulders.

"Okay okay..." Dean muttered, suddenly sounding completely in control and Kevin let out a long, inward sigh of relief.

It was short-lived.

Kevin watched in horror as Sam's torso almost immediately twisted and jerked to his right. It looked like his side was getting tasered or something.

Dean caught him in time just before Sam banged his head into the stove and for a terrifying and slow one-two count the two of them just stayed crouching low like that as Dean spoke to his brother.

"Okay, okay Sammy just stay with me, dude, okay?"

Kevin needed to do something. Sam's eyes were only on Dean but he looked frightened and he kept trying to speak. Nervous ticks started affecting his facial movements too as Sam gurgled and let out choked-off whimpers and... and Kevin needed to do something because along with all of Sam's symptoms the guy's eyes were getting glassy, a faraway, distracted look slowly entering into his gaze...

Heart beating fast with adrenaline and the inner imperative to help, Kevin jumped forward to lend support by lifting Sam back up.

"Kevin  _hey_! No-no-no, Kev," Dean shouted loudly, stopping Kevin in his tracks.

"But-"

"He's gotta go down," Dean explained softly, "just in case," he added, hefting Sam's body up against him for a better grip.

" _Here_?!" Kevin asked, incredulous. Something about lying Sam down on the floor of the kitchen broke Kevin's sense of occasion. They were taking  _emergency_  measures now if they weren't even bothering to move him to a couch or a bed or something...

"Yeah," Dean grunted, completely disregarding Kevin's obvious distress. Sam let out a garbled wheeze before Dean started to lower his flailing, twitching body down onto the kitchen floor.

Still desperate to help, Kevin moved forward cautiously to spot them, anxiety tripping his senses but kinda in a good way: like tunnel vision zeroed in on only Dean's voice and only Sam's body.

But Dean had stopped talking to him...

"Okay it's okay, just let it happen, Sammy. Just ride it out. Relax, just relax," Dean whispered calmly as he settled his brother onto the cold floor. Sam wriggled vaguely and Kevin couldn't figure out if they were involuntary movements or if Sam was just trying to get comfortable. Kevin registered Sam's jaw clenching with frustration, his teeth grinding uncontrollably and his expression both sorrowful and scared. Tears were threatening to break free of his squinting, seemingly sensitive eyes...

 _Oh god_ , Kevin thought as he got a close-up look into Sam's eyes. A sudden sharp streak of fear slashed through him... Not for Sam but for  _them_. Him and Dean.

"Dean... Dean, his eyes," Kevin warned, his voice trembling with dread as he leaned backwards away from Sam.

"I know, Kevin, that's normal. Sammy's still with us right now though so just chill out. Nothing's wrong," Dean replied with the same tone he'd been using, staring into Sam's wet, glassy, incredibly dilated black pupils.

Kevin looked at Sam and swallowed his fear. If Dean said it was normal then it'd be okay. Dean was the expert on demons. Kevin tried to take deep breaths in between hyperventilating ones, watching the scene before him, circling the axiom around and around in his head:  _Dean's the expert, Dean's the expert, Dean's the exper-"_

Dean continued to hover over his brother, kneeling on Sam's left side, running his hand up and down Sam's left arm and shoulder as the youngest brother's arm and torso convulsed on the floor.

"You're safe. You're okay, Sammy. You know the drill, man, you just have to let it play out," Dean crooned.

His heart racing, Kevin still took a second to look at Dean. He exuded nothing but steady, even-tempered control for the situation at hand. More than that, he was being affectionate and honest. No frustration, worry or even saving-face humor shaded his bearing right now.

Dean had done this before, Kevin realized.

Not only that, though. This was...this was  _really_ _Dean_...

Kevin never thought he'd ever see the eldest brother like this. Never thought Dean was even capable of this kind of care.

 _Maybe this was what Dean was like before,_ Kevin wondered. And seeing him with his brother like this... it seemed to come so naturally.  _Maybe like when they were kids...?_

Because the connection held between the brothers right now - Sam convulsing yet consciously seeking out Dean's eyes like an anchor. Dean meeting Sam with unwavering confidence and affection. It was all reminiscent of something more innocent than anything Kevin had been exposed to in a very long time. These men were serial killers, monster hunters, thieves and drunken brawlers.

But this... this was something else.

This was an echo of something  _before_  they were all those things.

This was their source of hope.

Maybe.

Kevin wasn't sure.

Frankly the only thing he knew was that he  _really_  wanted his mom right now...

Sam grunted in pain and Kevin snapped out of his thoughts to look back. Dean continued his quiet reassurances but the glazed look Kevin had seen on Sam earlier was starting to conquer his entire expression along with involuntary neck jerks and facial ticks. Still, Kevin could see Sam was pulling through and putting tremendous effort into staying conscious - staying with Dean - to listen to him.

"You're doing great, little brother. You can make it. Not much longer. Just keep-"

Dean's hushed words were interrupted by a severe spasm that marched down through Sam's entire right side to his right leg and foot. Sam cried out in short sharp gasps and Dean continued to try holding Sam's focus.

"It's okay! It's okay, Sammy! This can happen you know this can happen-" Dean murmured urgently. Sam jerked and writhed, his eyes open and barely focused on Dean.

Until they weren't.

A new flash of terror ran through Kevin as he watched Sam lift up for a second, issue a guttural choked-off cry, and slam back down to the floor. Dean's hand was there to cushion the blow to the back of Sam's head when it landed on the floor and Dean swore when he saw Sam's eyes had closed.

"Dean-?" Kevin whispered, staring at Sam as the man's entire body started to seize and writhe.

"Fuck! Shit! Kevin go get a pillow  _now_!" Dean shouted, his tone having competely shifted: demanding, harsh and angry as he jumped up and pulled Sam's body further into the center of the kitchen.

To Kevin it felt like the show was over; Dean was back to himself now and Kevin had just imagined it all.

When Kevin came running back with a pillow he found Dean frantically shoving the stools near Sam's feet away and letting them crash to the ground, making him startle at the loud screeching noises that continued to reverberate around the kitchen's acoustics.

Kevin's eyes widened as he took Sam in: he was in the midst of a full-blown grande mal seizure now. His entire body shuddered into tight muscle contractions then relaxed and the process just kept repeating over and over again. Dull jagged grunts emitted from his snapping jaw, his disheveled hair whipping around as the involuntary movements took him over.

Dean only glanced at Kevin before snatching the pillow out of his numb hands and shoving it under Sam's head. Kevin remained where he was, unsure what to do. Now that he was standing up and watching, he realized how thin Sam was - or had gotten. Sam was six foot four but his bare, pale legs had nothing but wiry muscle on them and his sweatshirt had considerable room to spare.

It took a second for Kevin to realize Dean wasn't making things better. He'd just just stopped moving altogether, kneeling next to his frantically writhing brother... doing absolutely nothing.

"Dean,  _do something_!" Kevin prompted helplessly, scared Dean had finally checked out.

This  _looked_  like Sam was dying right before their eyes, his entire body wrecking itself with flailing limbs and bodily contortions and Dean was just  _sitting_  there?!

No, wait. Dean was checking the time. What a fucking productive thing to do while your brother's having a  _friggin'_   _death seizure_.

"Dean!" Kevin screamed.

" _Shut up Kevin_ ," Dean shouted and Kevin fell silent, watching the older brother in disbelief.

Kevin swallowed and kept his eyes on Sam, his heart beating a mile a minute and he prayed to God - if there was still a God that was listening - that Sam wasn't going to die right here on the kitchen floor.

Kevin folded his arms and held himself, rocking back and forth on his heels, and realized his eyes were tearing up. He sniffed and wiped them but he couldn't calm down as he watched Sam's seizure. He almost started sobbing when he saw bright red blood spatter out of Sam's mouth onto his lips and face.

" _Fuck_ , Sammy, c'mon," Dean whispered vehemently but Kevin heard the tremor; the plaintive note in his tone. He glanced at Dean and realized the older brother was shaking and it set even more alarms off in Kevin's head.

Oblivious to the young prophet, Dean just lifted up and quickly reached over Sam's body to grab the washcloth that'd been folded and hung along the oven handle. He held off on touching Sam at all though.

How was Dean not moving?! All Kevin wanted to do was hold Sam down and scream at Sam to  _stop this! Stop scaring us! Stop scaring Dean!_

More jolts and shock waves wracked through Sam's body; blood continued to get drooled, spit, or blown out onto his lips, chin, neck and hair... Kevin felt like this was never going to end.

But finally it did.

After three minutes and thirty seconds, Sam's convulsions began to taper off.

And when Sam stilled  _completely_ , Kevin realized it was just as frightening as the seizure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> X-posting from ff.net faster now for QuestionableSanity, whose comments & suggestions have been awesome! Thank you again, love!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time!


	29. Black Out

Kevin's breath hitched at the same time Dean slid in closer to Sam on the floor. His hands got bloody as he tilted his brother's chin up and put a hand on Sam's chest. He hovered over his brother's mouth, listening for breath.

"Dean?" Kevin asked, his voice small and tinny.

"He's breathing," Dean whispered dully. In one smooth move he pulled Sam's left arm into a right angle along the floor, the other to rest against the side of his face. He bent Sam's far leg towards him, gently pulled the pillow away from under Sam's head, and proceeded to roll him over onto his side.

"Kev get a blanket," Dean ordered quietly as he ducked down to focus on wiping blood away from his brother's mouth. "Kevin," Dean prompted softly and Kevin broke his trance.

"He's okay?"

"Yeah just get a blanket," Dean murmured as Kevin watched him open Sam's mouth wide and dab the cloth along his lips. Sam was out cold, eyes closed, face pale with the specks of blood. Kevin stayed where he was though as he watched Dean examine Sam's mouth. "Get a small flashlight too, will you? It's in the duffel on the table in the library," Dean said, his voice quiet and serious as he craned to see Sam's tongue.

"Okay," Kevin breathed and took off. He found the flashlight after rustling through the bag for a few seconds, gave a brief glance around to check if there'd been any blankets left in clear view. There weren't so he angled straight to Dean's room.

Upon entering it took a second for Kevin to grasp the setting. With an oxygen tank, an old defibrillator, a rickety wheelchair and a small plastic bucket along one side of the bed... and so many blankets strewn around the floor and on the mattress, Kevin realized that this was where Sam must be sleeping. He didn't even have time to question where Dean slept as he grabbed the closest blanket and booked it back out to get to the kitchen.

He arrived to find Dean hunched over Sam's sprawled-out form, one hand rubbing Sam's back and the other carding through his hair. Dean was completely focused on his brother and obviously unaware of Kevin's presence. Kevin knelt down next to Dean slowly so as not to startle him. Dean flinched slightly and relaxed when he looked up.

"Got the flashlight?"

"Yeah here." Kevin handed it to him and Dean once again got onto his knees and tilted in to open Sam's mouth. Kevin tried to see past the blood, both revolted and fascinated that Dean was gently using his fingers to sweep the red drool out of Sam's mouth for a better view.

"S'not bad," Dean finally said, lifting Sam's tongue and angling the flashlight along its side.

"Really?"

"Really," Dean said, flicking the flashlight off and pulling away from his brother. He absently wiped his hand against his shirt and Kevin flipped open the blanket to drape over Sam's unconscious form. Dean kept silent and helped.

"Get his feet," Dean muttered and Kevin nodded, crawling down to make sure the blanket would wrap over and around Sam's bare feet.

"You don't wanna move him?" Kevin whispered, sensing the quiet was a form of respect due Sam. Dean shook his head and sighed, putting his hand back on top of Sam's head.

"No we should wait until he wakes up. We'll move him then," Dean said with finality. Kevin wasn't going to argue it.

Dean bit his lip and grabbed the washcloth again to wipe Sam's mouth. Kevin had to ask.

"What happened?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced.

"Partial seizures start most commonly in the hand or foot. They can spread. This one did," Dean said simply, sadly, as he continued to clear Sam's lips of red. Kevin was still scared, still worried that what had just happened would have worse consequences for all of them.

"Is Sam going to be okay?"

Dean shrugged.

"Might take him a couple days to unscramble," Dean supplied evenly. Kevin looked at Dean, trying to figure him out.

"How do you know about this stuff?"

Dean pursed his lips, unsure whether to answer Kevin. Kevin could see the moment Dean figured the truth wouldn't hurt.

"Sam used to get these when he was a kid."

"Seizures?"

"Mm hmm," Dean replied, nodding his head calmly. He was still staring at Sam with so much compassion... Kevin had never seen it before.

"Were... were they as bad as... what just happened?" Kevin asked, hoping that they had been. Hoping that Dean had been through this before and had it all covered.

It was a stupid hope; Dean wasn't coming off especially prepared or confident at the moment.

Dean tilted his head, squinting to see his brother's face for a second, before responding.

"No. Nothing as bad as this," he said solemnly, and used the other side of the washcloth to swipe sweat off Sam's forehead.

"Should we... are you gonna try to wake him up?"

Dean shook his head.

"No he'll come around in his own time. He's unconscious right now. We gotta let his body recover," he explained quietly.

"Is he gonna be okay when he wakes up?" Kevin asked, "like... normal?"

Dean pressed his lips together and cringed as he shook his head. Kevin let the silence linger, hoping Dean would explain.

"Get me a bottle of water from the fridge, will you?" Dean asked. Kevin looked at Dean but the eldest brother wasn't giving him anything so he just nodded and got up.

"Pour the water out and use the tap for room temperature," Dean added as Kevin pulled a bottle out. He did as he was told and went to the sink. As he tested the water temperature with his finger he couldn't help but notice the stir fry and bacon still on the counter to his right.

He'd only just arrived that day and while Dean had told him that Sam was sick, Kevin hadn't fully grasped the extent of it. Sam had been up and studying. He'd taken a nap, sure, but... that hadn't really registered with him. Sam had been perfectly coherent with him as they'd been preparing food. It'd only been like... ten minutes ago that they'd been enjoying comfortable silence.

Kevin turned to glance at the brothers on the floor a few feet away from him. It was unreal, how they were these larger-than-life heroes... and he was a prophet.

Yet right now at this very moment they were all reduced to something so basic; so very mundane. Whatever their roles in the battle between good and evil - heaven and hell - one thing Kevin had never really stopped to consider was how they were all still very much at the mercy of the human condition. Suffering a constant, empathy instinctive and love expressed openly before death takes your loved one away...

The bottle Kevin had been running under the faucet started overflowing and he startled out of his thoughts. He capped it and knelt down next to Dean, setting the water bottle down between them.

Dean murmured a thanks as he lazily rubbed Sam's back and kept a watchful eye out for what Kevin assumed was any sign or indication that he was regaining consciousness. Sam was still sprawled out and covered by his hoodie and the blanket that covered his lower half. Kevin realized Dean had put him in the recovery position.

"Is there anything else I can do?" Kevin asked, his voice still hushed to match Dean's tone. Dean blinked, thinking, then finally shook his head.

"I don't think so," he whispered.

"I could get the food-"

"-No. Just be quiet when he wakes up. We'll get the food later."

"Okay," Kevin replied honestly. He could do that. He was reassured just knowing that Dean knew Sam would wake up.

Kevin remained sitting by Sam's legs as Dean stayed kneeling over his brother's head and shoulders. He kept his fingers on Sam's pulse, swiped blood off his mouth, and just waited, watching.

Kevin pulled the sleeves of his shirt down to cover his hands but then thought to check his watch. It'd been about ten, maybe fifteen minutes since Sam had finished seizing. A couple minutes later Dean wordlessly got up to grab a mixing bowl from one of the shelves. He set it down next to the water bottle and resumed his vigil.

This was feeling like forever and Kevin was starting to understand what Sam had been saying about Dean's facade getting torn down. He felt it too. The gnawing anxiety and a cold, numb fear that Sam could maybe just... slip into a coma. Die. Right here on the kitchen floor. And they'd be powerless to stop it.

Kevin wasn't even Sam's brother and he felt the sense of dread and abandonment that'd come with Sam's death. Not only that but Kevin knew that Dean would lose all stability as well. Kevin wouldn't have Dean at his back if Sam died. He'd just be lost...

In truth, Kevin didn't know  _what_  he'd be facing in Dean if Sam died. He just knew that the way Dean was acting right now - the desperate compassion in his eyes, watching his unconscious brother with such barely concealed fear...

If Sam was right and everything Dean seemed to be to him was a facade, then right now it was clear Sam's death would devastate him. Maybe to a point of no return. Kevin didn't want to think about how far Dean would go... How self-destructive he could become.

Kevin thought of himself as unselfish but when he looked at Dean and realized the man before him would lose all conceivable hope if Sam died, a new panic-inducing fear shuddered through him. He'd be robbed of Dean as an anchor of support: Sam was everything to him... and the two of them were the only people left in Kevin's world that cared about him. Even if it was just a little bit, it was all Kevin had left. Maybe he was clinging to wispy threads of connection but...

No matter what, if Dean lost Sam then Kevin would  _definitely_  lose Dean.

"Dean... he's gonna be okay, right?" Kevin asked, his voice shaking as he tried to figure out what he was going to do if he were to be completely abandoned again.

 _Please God_ , he thought,  _not again_. That period of time when Sam hadn't been answering his phone calls? Six months of blind paranoia and terror. He couldn't go through that again...

"Dean?" Kevin asked, his voice trembling. Dean gave a start over his brother, then tilted down and squinted.

"Dean?" Kevin repeated.

"-Shh," Dean hushed, leaning in closer over Sam.

Kevin blinked himself out of his own tragedy and leaned closer too.

"Is he waking up?" Kevin practically squeaked. Dean snapped sharply at him, a reminder for him to be quiet, as he pressed a hand against Sam's head.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, passing his hand over Sam's hair delicately. "Sam?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	30. Postictal State

Kevin watched, not even realizing he was holding his breath. He saw Sam's eyes roll under their lids and his lips pressed together, brows knitting into a confused wince. Probably tasting the blood in his mouth.

"Sammy, c'mon," Dean whispered again and Sam's eyes just barely opened.

"He's awake?" Kevin asked just as Dean pushed a palm against Sam's face, gentle yet enough of a touch to get Sam to open his eyes wider. They were unfocused, still slightly rolling. It was obvious his vision was clouded and he wasn't conscious enough to blink it away.

"Yeah," Dean said slowly, watching his little brother closely as he kept his palm on Sam's cheek. Sam was only vaguely responsive, jerkily tilting his face into Dean's hand without full recognition and his tongue working inside his mouth. "Yeah... but... he's off..." Dean said, looking directly into Sam's eyes. Sam stared dully through half-opened eyes, unable to grasp what was going on. He dazedly moved an uncoordinated hand up to his mouth.

"Okay, Sam, it's okay," Dean promised quietly as he took hold of his brother and lifted him. Kevin shivered when he heard Sam moan in groggy, uncomprehending pain but Dean ignored it until he got Sam rolled onto his knees on the floor.

Sam limply hung over his own kneel, looking very much like the classic Islamic prayer pose, his face only inches from the floor as he clutched his stomach. Dean scooted up and hovered over Sam's back, wrapping an arm across Sam's waist as he pulled the mixing bowl over in front of his brother.

"Okay, Sammy, you feel sick, here's the bowl," Dean whispered and Kevin cringed with disgust. He sincerely hoped Dean didn't think they'd ever use that bowl again if Sam threw up into it.

Still geared to do something, Kevin grabbed the water and shifted his position on the floor to be in front of Sam's down-turned head. He glanced at Dean and Dean nodded, taking the water bottle from his hand.

Sam moaned again, causing Dean to lean in closer and rub his back and side. Sam's groans seemed mindless; like the sounds Kevin thought zombies made. Just miserable, confused, pained noise.

"D'n," Sam suddenly whimpered and Kevin caught the flash of a smile on Dean's face before he jumped forward and pulled Sam's hair back. Kevin thought Dean had gone nuts, the brief look of elation in his eyes when Sam had barely been able to pronounce his name.

"Hey... look who's talking," Dean whispered into Sam's ear.

 _Oh_ , Kevin thought.  _Got it_. Sam was no longer mute.

Seemed like a shitty swap though. Kevin would rather have Sam mute than like he was now...

Dean threaded his arm under Sam's and braced his brother's upper chest, his hand resting along Sam's collarbone and neck. He rubbed Sam's head and shoulders, his whole body practically covering Sam's hunched-over form. It was so blatantly protective Kevin instinctively knew not to come any closer.

Which was weird because that was when Kevin realized he kind of  _wanted_  to come closer.

If Dean wasn't around, Kevin was pretty sure that he'd be awkwardly patting Sam's back, detached and feeling like this was way out of his league and experience. He was an only child, his mom never got sick, he'd never babysat kids and he'd never been in a relationship where his significant other had been sick. All in all, Kevin had never really been expected to take care of anyone other than himself his whole life.

That said, the way Dean was doing this, it seemed... natural. Not at all awkward. Just genuine and kind and comforting. In any other scenario, Kevin would've balked at the sentiment but with Dean at the helm - Dean, the most harsh and insensitive man Kevin had ever encountered - well... if Dean could do this so smoothly, Kevin found he really wanted to too.

Pangs of sympathy ripped through him as he just sat in front of Sam, watching as the younger brother breathed through his obvious nausea. Dean was holding his head up and hair back now which was good because Kevin was sure Sam's face would be resting in the bowl if he wasn't.

Kevin wanted to lean forward and add a hand to Sam's back. It was like a gut reaction to seeing Sam's body jolt and shake like it was. Sam seemed to like it when Dean did it, too. He leaned into Dean's body and held onto Dean's bracing hands and arms when they were within reach. Dean reminded Kevin of those roller coaster safety harnesses. He was keeping Sam's body in perfect position, safe and as comfortable as he could get him while Sam fought through the muddy pain and confusion.

At some point it dawned on Kevin that even though Sam was gagging a little bit, he wasn't throwing up. He was about to point this out to Dean when Sam spoke up.

"D'n," Sam groaned, his voice tinny inside the metal mixing bowl.

"I know, I got you, it's okay," Dean whispered, starting to rub Sam's back a little faster. "Can you spit into the bowl for me?"

Sam didn't do anything. Dean pushed his hand into Sam's hair and massaged Sam's head.

"Spit, Sammy, c'mon, spit,  _spit_ ," he murmured. Sam gave a small whimper and spit blood into the bowl.

"Dee..." Sam grunted, threads of drooled blood dripping from his mouth.

"It's okay. You bit your tongue in the seizure. Keep spitting, Sammy."

Sam coughed and did as he was told, hacking spits and coughs into the bowl, trying to get rid of the blood that'd flooded into his mouth during the seizure.

Kevin was so grossed out... but then again, he had seen Dean literally explore Sam's bloody mouth with his fingers less than five minutes ago so it's not like this was any worse.

Kevin found himself watching Sam, surprised to realize his repulsion was dwindling as his concern for Sam's welfare upped.

At some point Sam's forehead hit the rim of the bowl and sent it whirling off its place on the floor. Kevin jerked forward to put it back. As he angled it in front of Sam's face he kept quiet, unable to feel okay using the same reassurances on Sam that Dean was using. He left his hand on the bowl to keep it steady should Sam hit it again. That's when he felt Sam's palm reach out and lightly grip him around his wrist.

Kevin froze but snapped out of it when Sam's next gag and spit into the bowl made his grip on Kevin's wrist tighter. Kevin wanted to reach out to Sam's head or shoulder but he knew Dean had him. Instead Kevin put his hand over Sam's and shifted things so they were palm-to-palm. He held on tightly, willing the shakes to go away in his friend's hands. It was futile.

After a few seconds Kevin realized that Sam was holding then releasing pressure over Kevin's palm. It was rhythmic; Sam was consciously doing that for him. Letting him know that he still aware; still okay. Sam was reassuring  _Kevin_.

Taken by the gesture, it was almost a full minute later that Kevin looked up to Dean. He almost froze again, Dean's eyes drilling into him so hard. He was still holding Sam, still keeping him steady and braced, but his focus was entirely on Kevin.

Kevin swallowed nervously. He refused to let Sam's hand go. There was something now that Kevin felt towards Sam. He wouldn't break the connection because he wanted it.

And then Kevin thought he was dreaming. Dean ticked a sideways smile and winked at him before turning back down to pay attention to his brother. It'd happened so fast Kevin could barely believe it but then Dean had started talking again and Kevin had to stop thinking so loudly about what that moment had meant.

"Okay let's wrap it up, you're done, Sammy, c'mon, man," Dean whispered. Sam gave one last whimpered spit, let go of Kevin's hand, and with a small tug from Dean helping him, collapsed to the side into Dean's lap.

"Okay," Dean dragged the word out as he shifted around to sit cross-legged. "Part two," he murmured as he got Sam tilted on his side over his lap.

Sam moved around, weak but agitated.

"It's okay Sammy, drink this," Dean said calmly, bringing the water bottle to Sam's lips.

Sam grunted and flinched away from it.

"It's-Sam, it's okay..." Dean coaxed but Sam started making vague gestures with his hands. Kevin realized he was trying to reach for the bottle so he could drink from it himself.

"Dean, Sam wants-"

"I know what he wants, Kevin," Dean said in the same exact tone of voice he'd been using on Sam.

"So why don't-"

Dean shifted and leaned the water bottle against Sam's mouth despite Sam's guttural protestations.

"He can't. I've seen this. He'll just drop it," Dean said steadily.

Somehow Dean's attitude managed to annoy Kevin on Sam's behalf. If Sam wanted to drink water with his own hands, who the hell was Dean to take that away from him? After all Sam had been through, the least they could do-

Just then Dean managed to press the nozzle between Sam's lips and squeezed the barest level of pressure for water to trickle into his mouth. Sam let out a sharp cry and squirmed.

"Dean just let him-!"

"-Kevin, relax, it's okay, I promise, it's okay, Sammy, you're safe," Dean continued saying nonsense and Kevin watched, conflicted, as Sam started to settle down and drink from the water bottle.

"Kevin," Dean began, "you and I could be talking about anything right now," he said softly, the same easy, comforting lilt in his voice, "as long as we're using this tone of voice. Sam's disoriented... He has no idea what we're saying and he's got no coordination-"

"How do you know?" Kevin challenged, this time with a grudgingly smoother tone to match Dean's. Dean let the water bottle go and set it on the floor. Sam fell visibly limp against him and Dean rubbed slow circles around his shoulders and back.

"Sam told me once to think of it like getting coated in fog... All your senses are muffled... you can only pick up maybe one or two words but ultimately you're only registering the way voices sound..."

Kevin bit his lip, watching Sam curl around Dean slowly. Dean was helping him but Sam was just... kinda... jostling around without conscious direction or motive.

"Why's he moving like that?" Kevin asked, worried but somewhat morbidly curious now.

"Fatigue. Aftereffect of a seizure. Combine cognitive and sensory disorientation with muscle weakness and you get this," Dean said soothingly, leaning over his little brother to wipe hair off his face. Sam hummed something that sounded vaguely like Dean's name and twisted onto his back to stare up into Dean's eyes.

"I know, bud, I'm right here," Dean whispered, pushing his arm under Sam's arm and back. He lifted Sam up a little bit, cradling the back of Sam's head, to allow his little brother a better view of his face.

Kevin could see Sam's vision was still off though - Sam wasn't focusing. His eyes just kept wandering away and around Dean's face. He did keep coming  _back_  to Dean's eyes though. Every time he did Dean would say something like, "good job," and, "that's it, Sammy," and it tugged at Kevin to see Dean so calmly hopeful every time Sam would show even a brief hint that he was coming out of it.

Kevin thanked God that Dean seemed to know what was going on with Sam. The younger brother's behavior was disturbing... He'd never seen anyone so out of it when they hadn't been subjected to post-surgery drugs. He found himself relaxing and shifting closer to them. Found himself wanting to watch and monitor Sam's transition just as solicitously as Dean was.

"It's okay, Sam, I'm right here. You're safe, it's all good," Dean kept reassuring. Sam swallowed and winced again. It was obvious he didn't comprehend what the taste was or why it hurt.

"Do you want to move him?" Kevin whispered.

"Yeah I just want to give him a few more minutes, okay?" Dean said kindly, still looking down at Sam. Kevin had to give Dean a double-take when he realized the older brother was sporting a small, genuine smile as he looked down at Sam.

"Why're you smiling?" Kevin had to ask, his tone blunt and quietly accusatory. How could Dean even be thinking of smiling right now?

Dean sighed but kept the smile plastered on his face.

"It's just a thing..." Dean trailed off. Kevin tilted his head well enough that Dean could see the tacit prompt in his peripheral vision. "His senses will come online eventually... smiles universally put people at ease."

Kevin considered Dean's explanation. Just then Sam huffed, furrowed his brows and smacked his lips lightly. He hummed again but this time in something resembling irritation.

"Dean, what-"

Sam hummed and waved a limp hand against Dean's stomach as he turned further in towards Dean's waist.

Dean gave a small snort of laughter as he rubbed Sam's back which was now turned towards Kevin.

"What? What's so funny?" Kevin whispered, watching Dean shake his head affectionately as he looked down at his brother.

"Ah nothing," Dean said, nonchalant as he ducked his arms under both of Sam's. Sam reached up to Dean, his facial expression and movement still unaware yet vaguely wanting. "Just some things never change," Dean said affectionately as he hoisted Sam up into a sitting position on his lap and let Sam fall against him into a hug.

Kevin watched, shocked that this was Sam and Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	31. Postictal State Part II

_"Ah nothing," Dean said, nonchalant as he ducked his arms under both of Sam's. Sam reached up to Dean, his facial expression and movement still unaware yet vaguely wanting. "Just some things never change," Dean said affectionately as he hoisted Sam up into a sitting position on his lap and let Sam fall against him into a hug._

_Kevin watched, shocked that this was Sam and Dean Winchester._

* * *

Sam hung onto his brother, feebly grasping Dean's t-shirt along his back and shoulders. His head had fallen against Dean's shoulder, ducking down against his neck. He didn't have the strength to keep it up so Dean hefted him a few times to get his head jostled up and over Dean's shoulder.

It was pretty clear Sam was still gone. He was just... dumb, Kevin thought awkwardly. It wasn't the most sensitive way to put it but Sam was acting without any sense of self-awareness. The only thing Kevin could see was that he'd taken to Dean's hug, shuddering in under his brother's hold like Dean was a shield against everything else.

It was at that moment that Kevin thought about Dean's whispered words about how some things never changed. Kevin hadn't really understood but he could put two and two together now. Sam had had these seizures as a kid. Dean had seen Sam like this before. Sam must have always wanted his brother's contact like this after a seizure or something. It probably used to settle him down when the world didn't make sense and he could barely string two words together.

Sam grappled the back of Dean's t-shirt, keening lamely and squirming in frustrated distress.

 _Jesus_ , Kevin thought,  _and I thought Dean had been the Care Bear_.

"Sam you're okay, you're with me, okay?" Dean whispered as he shifted them backwards so he could lean against the kitchen cabinets. Sam struggled to hold on to his brother, clutching him tightly as they moved. "You're safe, I gotchya. It was just a seizure. You're disoriented but every thing's going to be okay," Dean explained. He got to the cabinets and let Sam settle down in his arms. Kevin found himself scooting up to be closer to them, to hear Dean's reassurances more because he was fascinated... and also they were working. And not only on just Sam. "You just have to let this pass, just relax..." Dean murmured into Sam's ear as he rubbed his brother's back. "C'mon little brother I know you're comin' out of it... C'mon, you're okay, Sammy..."

Sam shivered under Dean's coaching.

"You cold?" Dean asked his brother lightly. When Sam didn't answer Dean looked around for a minute before glancing up at Kevin. "Kev will you get the blanket?" He asked casually. Kevin silently nodded and whipped around to grab the blanket that'd been left on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. When he turned back he saw Dean was shifting his legs open and out so Sam could possibly sit up a bit more. He'd been lying across Dean's lap but with the floor under him he'd be able to pull himself up. Maybe.

Kevin looked to Dean and Dean gave a small nod before Kevin leaned over them to drape the blanket over Sam's back. Dean worked the blanket as he maneuvered Sam to sit up higher against him.

"C'mon Sammy, wake up, bud," Dean said calmly as he pulled and tugged the blanket to cover Sam's shoulders and neck. He pulled his arms out from under it though so he could wrap it around Sam more efficiently. He kept repeating the situation to Sam with the same tone of voice: you had a seizure, you're disoriented, it'll pass, just ride it out, you can do it, I've got you, you're safe, nothing's wrong, just take it easy...

Kevin knelt in front of them, worried but now just a little more innocently curious about how this would play out. Dean wasn't treating this like an emergency anymore - he was just... being supremely weird... for Dean, that is. That Dean could be so physically affectionate was just... yeah: weird. And shocking. But it seemed to be working because Sam was so clearly attached and in need of it...

Kevin could see perfectly Sam's shakes against Dean, only the mop of brown hair visible against Dean's shoulder and neck moving around restlessly. It seemed like Sam was in a constant state of discomfort and Kevin... Kevin just wanted to help in some way... and while Dean's methods were above and beyond anything Kevin could do, maybe he could still just...

Kevin unconsciously reached his hand out to touch Sam's blanketed back. He halted a few inches shy, realizing Dean had stopped talking. He looked up to find Dean looking at him. He was still holding Sam protectively - almost possessively - and so Kevin froze. He bit his lip, unsure, and silently asked for permission with wide, sympathetic eyes.

Dean glanced upwards in thought for a second, then nodded to Kevin at the same time he twisted the hand against Sam's back to gesture, 'one,' with his index finger.  _Just a second_.

"Kevin's here too, Sam. He's right behind you, making sure you're okay with me," Dean said evenly, then glanced at Kevin and nodded to Kevin's outstretched hand. Kevin nodded back and scooted forward to put his hand against Sam's back.

"Hey Sam," Kevin whispered, totally embarrassed to sound so soft in front of Dean Winchester. But when he looked at Dean, the man just lifted his eyebrows and nodded encouragingly at him, completely open and nonjudgmental as he kept Sam secure in his arms. "You... gonna... be okay?" Kevin asked hesitantly. He glanced at Dean who was giving him a surprisingly charming sideways smile of doubt:  _don't expect Sam to answer that one_. Kevin returned the small smile and shrugged, figuring it'd been worth a try. But Sam didn't respond, even when Dean picked it up.

"Sam, bud, Kev just asked if you're gonna be okay... What do you think, huh?" Dean repeated gently, tilting his head to see if he could catch Sam's eyes. Sam gave a huffed whimper and burrowed against Dean's shoulder. The combined gesture and sound seemed like a perfect mix of pain and impatient irritation and Dean actually started laughing quietly. "Okay, okay, Sammy, just keep it together, man," he chuckled.

Kevin tried to smile at the exchange but he was still too deeply sympathetic to laugh along with Dean. He swallowed and started to rub Sam's back up and down his spine. Sam really  _was_  shaking: his muscles tight and his vertebrae probably sore from having seized on the hard surface of the kitchen floor.

Sam exhaled loudly with a grunted hum over Dean's shoulder. He shifted his face to tilt more towards Dean's face.

"S'rry..." Sam said. It was barely a whisper - more like a breath - but Kevin immediately stopped what he was doing to grin hopefully at Dean. Dean froze for a second, still holding Sam tight, then tried to keep a burst of relieved laughter from erupting. It came out like a sneezed snort as he moved his hand up to cup Sam's head. "M'fine..." Sam grumbled as his head rolled under Dean's hand, "Fine..." he repeated vaguely. His trembling hands started moving up to touch where Dean had his head.

"Oh my god, dude," Dean sighed loudly in relief and Kevin couldn't help but laugh with schadenfreude when Dean squeezed Sam tighter and Sam let out a high-pitched whimper. Dean had basically just hugged Sam so hard he'd made his little brother squeak.

Dean didn't even care though, he just hefted his brother up and hugged him tighter. In the moment of elation he kissed the back of Sam's head. Sam just moaned into Dean's shoulder in response, still sounding like he had a ways to go before understanding what was going on

In the midst of his own quiet, relieved laughter, Kevin realized he had to rub his own teary eyes off. Sam was back with them. Talking and reacting and...

Well, maybe that was all.

"M'fine... M'okay... sssorry..." Sam muttered groggily, still hunched over Dean's shoulder in the hug.

"I know, I know," Dean said quietly, still grinning from ear to ear, "I know you're okay. Don't apologize, Sammy."

"Sss..." Sam started then just trailed off as Dean gently admonished him against it again. "'kay..." Sam finally said dully. Dean waited in silence a few seconds, allowing Sam to continue gaining his bearings. Kevin watched as Dean propped Sam up a little bit and open his mouth to speak when Sam cut in again.

"Sorry... sorry," Sam began his apologies again, sounding very much like what had happened had been a random lapse in judgment that should just be dismissed and ignored. He sounded reasonable, too: his tone like that of someone that's backtracking in a discussion and saying, "no okay you're right, fair enough, man."

It didn't suit the moment but it was actually kind of funny. Sam had had a seizure; he hadn't made a straw man argument.

"It's okay, man, relax, just relax, Sammy," Dean coached.

"'kay... M'fine... Sorry... I'm... fine..." Sam stuttered out.

Kevin listened. Dean was letting Sam repeat himself... and Dean kept repeating  _himself_  in his reassurances that there was nothing to be sorry about. It seemed like an utterly stupid, redundant conversation until it dawned on Kevin that Sam's short-term memory was probably off-kilter.

Okay so maybe Sam still wasn't a hundred percent. But he was talking. And he was saying stuff that only Sam would say. Like apologizing for having a seizure.

Kevin blinked his eyes clear more, grinning widely, and Dean returned the delight with his own smile towards the young prophet before focusing back on his brother. He rubbed Sam's back faster this time as if in prep.

"Okay, you okay to get up? We're gonna move you," Dean said.

"'M fine-m'fi...nnn..." Sam slurred, still limp in Dean's arms. Dean held his brother and sighed, realizing Sam wasn't registering much and wouldn't be coming out of it any time soon.

"'Kay, um," Dean shifted around to get into position, using gravity to keep Sam steady in his arms, "yeah, I'm..." he pushed a hand under Sam's knees, "just gonna carry him," Dean finished distractedly.

Kevin jumped up.

"Where do you wanna-"

"-My bedroom."

"You can make it?"

"Yeah he's lost a lot of weight," Dean huffed as he stood up, Sam dangling in his arms.

"-Dee!" Sam yelped and Dean hefted his brother higher against him.

"It's okay, it's okay, Sam," Dean said lightly and took a step forward. "I gotchya," he promised and Sam relaxed marginally, his arms and hands vaguely falling between his and his brother's chest.

Dean took a steady step forward and Kevin got out of the way, willing to let Dean take the lead. Instead the older brother stopped and turned to him.

"Kev you wanna do me a favor?"

"Uh, sure," Kevin replied immediately, surprised. Dean heaved Sam up again a couple times more as he spoke.

"You ah... you still got the car keys, right?"

Kevin nodded.

"Yeah-"

"Yeah," Dean grunted, maneuvering so Sam's head lolled forward instead of backwards over his arm. "There's a McDonalds 'bout four miles south of here. Get the twenty McNuggets pack with Sweet 'n Sour sauce and anything else for yourself, okay?"

Confused, Kevin still nodded along to the instructions.

"You got money?"

"Yeah."

"'kay," Dean jumped Sam up again in his arms, "don't be too long," he said as he started walking. Dean left the kitchen, carrying his little brother into the study heading for his bedroom.

Kevin mulled things over, kind of awe-struck, then slowly walked over to the kitchen table where he'd left the Impala's keys. Just as he grabbed them, a thought occurred to him and he rushed out into the study hoping he'd catch Dean.

"Dean!"

Dean stopped at the hallway's threshold and managed to angle himself towards Kevin.

"Yeah?"

"Um... what about a milkshake?"

"What?"

"Like... For Sam. For his..." Kevin gestured to his mouth and stuck his tongue out.

Slight irritation transformed into a smirk on Dean as he looked at him.

"Yeah sounds good," he said, turning back to the hallway, thinking the conversation was over.

"Wait, Dean," Kevin interrupted. Dean stopped and turned his head towards Kevin again. "What... what flavor does he like?"

Dean snorted with laughter.

"Strawberry," he said conclusively. "He'd never admit it but that's his favorite," he added, smiling back down at his brother. Kevin grinned and flipped the keys into his hand.

"'Kay, got it," he said excitedly. He jumped to and jogged his way up the stairs as Dean turned back to make his way down the hall to their bedroom.

"Sam I think you've got your own PA now," Dean muttered, amused by Kevin's enthusiasm as he walked through the hallway. Sam writhed in Dean's arms before huffing and looking up at his brother.

" _What_?" Sam said severely, like Dean had just said something abominably offensive. Dean couldn't contain a smile at Sam's unpredictable emotional settings.

"Kevin's gettin' you a strawberry milkshake, dude," Dean replied cheerfully. Sam blinked up at him, obviously trying to understand. "Relax, Sammy," Dean said and Sam did, letting go of the mental exercise of comprehension. They crossed into Dean's room and as Dean moved to set Sam down onto his side of the bed, Sam spoke up again.

"I like Kevin," Sam slurred groggily and Dean quirked an eyebrow in response as he lowered Sam onto the bed. Sam writhed around to get more comfortable as Dean pulled the covers out from under him.

"Me too, bud," Dean replied casually, not really paying attention. It occurred to him though that he was actually speaking the truth. In just this one day Kevin had endeared himself to the eldest brother. He wasn't going to dig deep on it but he knew it had something to do with how he'd been with Sam.

"Dee... Dean?!" Sam suddenly sounded worried. Dean stopped what he was doing to turn to look at his brother.

"What's up?"

Sam swallowed nervously, that panicked look coming over his eyes.

"Sam, what?!"

"I can't talk!"

"Huh?"

"I need..." Sam swallowed again and licked his lips, "I need the comp...uter."

"Why?"

"Because I  _can't... talk_!" Sam yelled, furious.

Dean was dying inside with laughter but he had to roll with the punches on this one. He clamped down on it and sat beside his brother.

"Sam, Sammy, you can talk. You're talking to me right now," Dean said patiently, brushing the kid's hair back.

"No!" Sam whined, like he didn't think Dean understood and everything was unfair.

"Yeah, Sam, relax. You're talking to me and I can hear you. Can you hear yourself too?"

" _Yeah_!" Sam whined in the same tone, then stopped.

A look of utter bewilderment flooded his expression and Dean bit his bottom lip trying so hard not to laugh at his little brother's expense.

Slowly, Sam got it and sighed. Slightly embarrassed, he glanced up then away from his brother's face.

"Don' laugh. S'mean," Sam said petulantly. Dean finally let go and started laughing as he leaned in to give Sam a kiss on his forehead.

Dean's conflicting actions further confused Sam but he registered Dean's affection over the laughter. A couple minutes later and it was all he recalled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	32. Still Pretty Punchy

Dean was about to let Sam pass out after getting him settled until he looked more closely at the kid's sweatshirt. He figured he could cover him with blankets instead of letting him wear the article of clothing he'd no doubt stained with blood near the hood and neck.

"Hold up, Sam," Dean murmured, starting to pull the sweatshirt up. Sam whined unintelligibly as he weakly lifted to let Dean do his thing. Dean managed to get the sweatshirt off quickly, pulling it over Sam's head with a  _whoosh_  sound that echoed in Sam's head. Sam groaned and went limp. Dean caught him under his back and head so he'd fall slowly back against the pillow.

"Okay, cool, you're good," Dean said, settling his brother back down and getting up to pull the covers back up.

"Tired..." Sam slurred.

"Yeah go to sleep."

And Sam did, clocking out at record speed.

Dean bit his lip and sighed, looking at his brother with a worried expression, his brow furrowed. He sighed again and tried to loosen up after the scare. He walked around the room and folded a few stray blankets. Ordered stuff around his desk and threw Sam's hoodie in the pile of laundry he'd created by the threshold of his bedroom door. He grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom for a much-needed shower.

Dean allowed himself a moment under the water's spray. Kevin was safe and would be working on the tablet as soon as possible to decipher the final trial. Cas was gone, searching for Metatron to possibly interrogate him for the details of the final trial. And Sam... Sam was still enduring the bizarre effects of the trials he'd already undertaken. There was nothing more, really, that anyone could do. Not much Dean could do at any rate.

Dean wasn't sure whether the seizure had been a result of the trials. Since Sam had had them before as a kid it could've just been a fluke hold-over from his childhood disorder... more than likely it was some mixture though. The trials triggering it in him more than they would someone who wasn't prone... like Dean.

Dean sighed, frustrated, and pressed his palms against the tiled wall in front of him. He let the warm soothing water cascade down his head and body. He wished more than anything that he could take his brother's place...

Wanting to get back to Sam, Dean hurriedly washed his hair and ran soap around the important areas before stepping out and drying off. He changed quickly, throwing on an old Iron Maiden t-shirt he hadn't worn in ages and a pair of faded forest green sweats before padding out into the hallway back to his room.

He checked his watch and realized he'd only been gone for eight minutes. At a loss of what to do, he decided to take his side of the bed and rest. He didn't bother about being quiet: as he climbed into bed he leaned over Sam to see how deeply the kid was sleeping. Satisfied that Sam was completely out, he sighed loudly and got comfortable on top of the covers, lying down against his pillow with arms crossed over his chest and ankles idly overlapping.

* * *

Kevin got back around a quarter to seven bearing a massive McDonalds bag: four double cheeseburgers, four things of fries, the chicken McNuggets, chocolate and strawberry shakes. He'd had time to decompress on the drive but he was still jittery; the keys jangling in his unsteady hand spoke well enough to that. He made his way to the kitchen and dumped the bag and shakes onto the table. He looked around and figured he'd give the brothers a few more minutes: the food was still warm and the kitchen was a mess.

He'd taken longer than usual, stopping off at a gas station to pick up a couple cleaning supplies, unsure if any had been stocked in the bunker that weren't dated to the fifties.

He side-stepped the mixing bowl on the floor to start with the stir fry: it was done, the wok's heat having finished its contents' frying even without the burner. He grabbed a plastic Tupperware and used the spatula to coax the stir fry inside. He threw it in the fridge and moved to the bacon. He wasn't sure if Dean would still want any so he placed a paper towel onto a plate and dropped the strips onto it to go in the microwave.

As the microwave buzzed, Kevin reached for the mixing bowl on the floor. Determined not to stare at the bile inside, he washed the bowl out with water in the sink. After the rinse it was fine and Kevin used the dish detergent to sanitize it further. After that he grabbed the small towel Dean had been using on Sam's mouth which had also been left on the floor. He rinsed it with water and got down to wipe the area where Sam had seized, picking up small specks and streaks of blood in the process. He rinsed it again with soap this time and left it hanging to dry while making a mental note to put it in the hamper afterwards. He grabbed disinfectant spray from the bag of gas station supplies and used it on the floor. He had to wait a few minutes for it to sink in so when the microwave ding-ed it seemed perfect timing. Kevin pulled the bacon out and set it on the kitchen table. He looked at his watch and figured it'd be a good time to go see if they were ready for food.

Kevin headed over to Dean's bedroom and stopped outside the door. It was cracked open slightly; Kevin wasn't sure whether to knock but figured it'd be protocol. He gripped the handle so he wouldn't open the door further before Dean could respond and lightly gave it a few knuckle taps.

"Dean-?"

He heard a sharp inhale issue out - the kind made when someone's waking up abruptly - and then a small cough before Dean's crackly voice responded.

"Yeah."

Kevin opened the door hesitantly and stopped at the threshold. Dean was blinking awake but otherwise kept his position lying out on his back along what Kevin realized was probably his side of the bed. Sam was totally asleep, positioned more in the middle of the mattress so his back could line up along his brother's side.

Kevin took the scene in, somewhat baffled by the strange intimacy of it.

Dean rubbed his face with his hand, still trying to wake up. He used his palm to keep his head propped up under his chin to see Kevin, obviously still exhausted. He looked at Kevin tiredly, then looked down around him to see what Kevin was looking at, finding his brother had scooted back to lie against him in his sleep.

He smiled crookedly back up at Kevin.

"Don't judge it," he deadpanned. Kevin was jarred out of his thoughts and shook his head.

"What? No... I..."

"Don't have siblings," Dean finished Kevin's sentence pointedly. Kevin nodded and made sure to conceal whatever phantom sense of loss that truth had evoked.

"You're right. I don't," Kevin shrugged and moved further into the room. Dean sat up a little further and fixed Kevin with an easy gaze.

"You also didn't grow up poor," Dean chuckled quietly.

"What... does that have to do with anything?" Kevin asked as he sat down at the chair by the desk. Dean shrugged.

"Privacy's a luxury."

"So why don't you let Sam be in his own room?"

Dean's features darkened.

"We tried that."

Given Dean's expression, Kevin thought better than to ask further about how that'd gone down.

"'Sides, I think he likes the company," Dean grinned and let his hand flop heavily against Sam's ribs. Sam unconsciously tried to roll over onto his back, hit the barrier that was his brother then settled to his original position lying against Dean. The older brother snorted lightly, amused, his hand still where it'd landed, and looked back to Kevin.

"So food's ready?"

Kevin nodded.

"Yep."

"Need help bringing it in?"

"What... in here?" Kevin asked, surprised. For some random reason eating in bed was just never an option.

"Yeah why not?"

"Uh..." Kevin struggled to explain decorum without sounding like a weirdo. "No, nothing. Okay..."

Dean glanced at his brother.

"Sam's gonna be out of it when he wakes up. I don't wanna move him," Dean added. Kevin nodded.

"Do you even want to wake him up?"

Dean grimaced and sighed.

"No. Technically we shouldn't but he really can't miss a meal - he's lost enough weight as it is," Dean said quietly, a tinge of sadness to his words as he rubbed Sam's side. Kevin had no doubt that Dean was feeling along Sam's ribs and lamenting the lack of healthy fat.

Dean huffed a sigh and turned to Kevin.

"Upside, we get to play around with him," Dean said with a smirk.

"'We?'" Kevin asked.

"Yeah bring your food in too, man."

Kevin tried to crush the elation he felt at being included.

"Okay," he said, just a dash too perky but Dean ignored it.

"D'you need help bringing the food in?"

"Nah I got it. Be right back," Kevin said, rising from the chair and heading out.

* * *

Sam woke up slowly even though he was getting bodily rocked by a heavy hand on the side of his ribcage.

"Sssstop..." Sam said, his voice getting muffled every time his face pressed against his pillow. He reached over and, unable to push the hand away, just weakly gripped the arm attached to it.

"Deeaan..." Sam whined but Dean had already stopped when Sam had reached out.

"-ake up Sammy," Dean said evenly, "time to wake up. Wake up. Food time. Food. Food.  _Food._ "

" _I get it_!" Sam grunted back vehemently, annoyed.

At that he heard Dean chuckling behind him and the rocking started up again. Sam moaned, still letting Dean roll his torso like a rag doll back and forth in bed.

"Dean-" Kevin's voice cut in somewhere in the room. Dean didn't stop rolling Sam as he responded.

"What?"

" _Kevin_?!" Sam called out, surprised, as Dean kept pushing him back and forth.

"Yeah dude Kevin's here wake up," Dean replied. "Wake up. Wake up... Wake up."

Sam finally found enough strength to roll over onto his back. He landed uncomfortably over his brother's left side and flung a lazy, uncoordinated hand up in an effort to smack Dean in the face.

He felt the back of his hand hit what felt like Dean's nose and grinned in triumph as Dean let out a shocked, pained  _uhf_  sound as he recoiled from the slap, hitting the back of his head against the wall by accident as he did so.

"Ow," Dean whined comically as both Kevin and Sam quietly snickered at his expense.

"You..." Dean said through gritted teeth, "bitch..."

Dean grabbed Sam, who was still lying halfway on top of him, under the arms and lifted him up roughly.

It only looked rough though; Sam felt Dean positioning himself for it and could tell that his brother was only jostling him the necessary amount to get him up quickly. The only difference was that Dean was holding him tighter than he normally would and Dean cackled when Sam instinctively jerked when Dean lingered on his ribcage, a spot he knew Dean knew was particularly ticklish, before pulling away.

"Ge' off me ge' off me go 'way," Sam mumbled grouchily but both Kevin and Dean could see Sam was sporting a foggy smile.

Sam coughed and hunched over in his light gray t-shirt that hung off him. He looked at it blandly and picked a piece of fluff off just as he registered the smell of food.

"Ohhh, McDonalds-?" Sam drew the name out with relish, finally lifting his head up to look around. He found Kevin standing at the desk, pulling cheeseburgers and french fries out, the scent permeating the entire room.

"Yup," Dean said simply, resting a hand against Sam's back reassuringly.

"Did you get Chicken McNuggets?" Sam asked, hazy hopeful.

Kevin pulled them out of the bag and Sam blinked as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Oh my god," Sam said, the  _you're awesome_ implicit as he drunkenly reached out over Dean to get his food. Dean leaned back indignantly while Kevin handed Sam the twenty-pack of McNuggets.

"Here and... Dean I got you some double cheeseburgers is that okay?" He asked as he sat back around to the food. "Dean?"

"-Dude!" Dean grabbed the McNuggets out of Sam's hand, "stop crushing the thing you're gonna make a mess, man," he said, annoyed, as Sam whined for his food back. Dean was spreading the blankets out so there was a smooth surface upon which to set the package down.

"Dean... Dean... I want... I want... Cats..."

"What?" Dean couldn't not laugh as he set the pack down finally. He turned to Kevin. "You got any napkins?"

Kevin nodded, smiling, and handed him a pile from the takeout bag.

"Cats," Sam repeated as he opened the McNuggets.

"You want sweet 'n sour sauce?"

"Yeah."

Kevin already had them out and leaned over to drop them in front of Sam. As he pulled back he glanced at Dean.

"Cats?" Kevin whispered. Dean grinned and shrugged, amused by Sam's strange request for felines.

"Hey Sam," he prompted.

"Yeah," Sam replied, focused solely upon dipping a McNugget into the sauce.

"Why you want cats?"

" _Casss_ ," Sam announced loudly, surprising his audience. Dean and Kevin tried to stifle their laughter but Sam wasn't really paying attention anyway.

"Why do you want Cas, bud?" Dean pressed, hoping for more entertainment.

"Cas likes burgers."

 _Oh_ , Dean thought,  _that actually makes sense._

"Cas... Castiel, the angel? Likes burgers?" Kevin asked. Dean nodded.

"Yeah he actually does. Those mini-burger things," Dean replied lightly. Kevin made a face and Dean shrugged. "Swear to God."

They were both blown off course when Sam randomly burst into laughter.

"Angels don't like normal-sized burgers," Sam cackled, his mouth full. Somewhat alarmed, Dean rubbed his back.

"Easy, dude. What?"

"Angels. Big burgers scare them," Sam said with a snort.

"Okay," Dean said, faking a tone of approval, "sure." He shrugged at Kevin:  _let's just give him that one._

A few minutes of silence passed - Sam focused on handling his food properly with Dean's help, Dean snacking on Sam's McNuggets (which only irritated Sam enough to grunt with annoyance every time Dean grabbed one from the pack. He eventually stopped when Dean promised him he wasn't eating that many), and Kevin chowing down on his cheeseburger. Probably none of them had realized how hungry they'd gotten but Sam especially was worn out and seemed to need the sustenance. His initial enthusiasm started to wan though, his pace slowing to a minimum until at last he spoke up.

"How many more do I have to eat before I can go back to sleep?" Sam grumbled lowly, sounding exhausted. His wrist went limp while still holding a McNugget.

Kevin blinked, surprised that Sam just randomly defaulted to asking Dean for permission. Even more endearing, Dean didn't miss a beat - he just automatically leaned over to assess how many Sam had eaten and replied.

"Finish that one and you can pass out," Dean said lightly.

"Okay," Sam said lamely and popped the whole thing into his mouth. He then flopped heavily against Dean's side, totally oblivious to Dean's grunt as the wind almost got knocked out of him.

"Seriously?" Dean murmured, eventually relenting to Sam's breach of personal space by resting his arm on Sam's back. "He's like a dog that doesn't know his own size," Dean informed Kevin.

Kevin chuckled and nodded, finding the analogy pretty well-suited to Sam's current state of mind. He grabbed a double cheeseburger and handed it out to Dean.

Before Dean took it though he craned around to see Sam.

"Sammy, you still chewing?"

Sam grunted.

"Sam open your mouth."

Sam opened his mouth slowly. Empty.

"Cool dude, you want your milk shake?"

"No thank you," Sam said drowsily.

"Mind if I have it?"

"No take it."

"'Kay go to sleep."

Sam nodded but he didn't move.

"Sam?"

No answer.

"Sammy? Go to sleep."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. Sam apparently hadn't gotten the memo that 'go to sleep' meant 'get off me.'

"I think he's asleep Dean," Kevin said, angling down to see Sam's peaceful expression as he slept against Dean's chest. He looked back up at Dean, grinning.

Okay. So it was true: Kevin had walked in thinking it was a little weird that they were sharing a bed but by now he was getting it. Sam was devastatingly ill and while Kevin had grown up in a home that treated illness with a general standing order to be quarantined (with the exception of timely meds and meals), Sam and Dean obviously hadn't.

Dean sighed at his brother, exasperated, halfway hoping it'd wake Sam up but the kid was down for the count.

"Okay I'm pinned for now," he mumbled with resignation, casually reaching out for the cheeseburger Kevin had ready for him. "Will you-?"

Kevin nodded and stood up to hand it to Dean.

As Dean worked to unwrap the thing over Sam's head, Kevin got back to thinking.

Neither brother had ever really talked to Kevin about how they'd grown up. The exception was earlier - when Dean had said they'd grown up 'poor.' They'd also said in passing that they'd grown up 'in the life.' Kevin didn't know whether either of those things meant they had a home base or not but no matter what it probably indicated accident and injury: the kind of stuff that wasn't contagious. Stuff that'd allow you to hang out next to the person and keep them company without worrying whether you were gonna get sick too.

Dean had told Kevin he didn't have any siblings so he didn't understand but Kevin would've begged to differ now. He knew siblings - he'd seen his friends with their older or younger sisters or brothers and it never really compared to what Kevin was now imagining Sam and Dean to have been like. Dean wasn't squeamish, impatient, negligent or condescending and Sam wasn't entitled, sullen, demanding or overly emotional. They were clearly fulfilling the roles they'd instilled upon each other a long time ago to both give and receive the casual comfort and affection they tended to need when vulnerable. And they carried it all through without even the slightest hint of embarrassment.

It just seemed natural to them.

And after hanging out with them for a few minutes like this, it seemed natural to Kevin too.

"Oh!" Kevin jerked, realizing something.

"What?" Dean asked, having finally unwrapped his cheeseburger successfully. He'd been about to take a bite.

"I heated up the bacon in the microwave. You want- I can go get it and you can add it to the cheeseburger," Kevin offered openly.

The look of adoration for Kevin that crossed Dean's face was hilarious. Kevin honestly almost blushed as he murmured, "one minute," and jogged out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Endnote: So, haha, I may be dating myself/Sam here but his laughter about angels being afraid of normal-sized burgers is a reference to the 1987 comedy 'Date with an Angel.' There's a scene where the angel tries to eat a burger and she doesn't hold it properly so when the burger opens and the ingredients fall out onto her lap, she freaks out. Punchy Sam was superimposing that scene onto Castiel & cracking up in his own little world.
> 
>  
> 
> Please comment/review if you can spare the time! Thank you! ~ Alex


	33. Temporary Recovery

3 AM

Sam shifted in the dark and turned over to face Dean. He couldn't see the digital clock's glowing red numbers beyond his brother's body but he didn't care enough to lift up. He wanted to get the taste of blood out of his mouth and his tongue was sore; moving it even slightly to the left was vaguely painful. He tried to fall back to sleep. The mental fog still lingered. It'd take another day or so to feel completely right.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn't been dreaming; he rarely did after seizures. It was like his brain had to shut down entirely for awhile in order to reboot properly. Ordinarily Sam didn't care one way or the other but with the dreams he'd been having he considered it a blessing and counted it.

Dean moved sluggishly next to him and sighed. It sounded deliberate and Sam looked up in the dark.

"You 'wake?" Dean whispered.

Sam considered not answering so he could go back to sleep.

"Yeah."

"How you feeling?"

Sam shrugged, knowing Dean would interpret the movement for what it was. Dean shifted and Sam could tell he'd turned to look at him in the dark.

"Tongue hurts."

Dean reached to the bedside table.

"Water?" He muttered as he pulled the bottle off the table.

"Uh, yeah," Sam yawned and Dean turned the dim light on by his side. Sam blinked awake to see Dean drinking out of the water bottle before handing it over to Sam.

"Gross," Sam murmured as he gripped the bottle. He tried to move it away from Dean's hold but Dean kept it.

"You got a hold of it?" Dean asked roughly.

"Yeah," Sam promised and Dean let go. Sam adjusted to the weight of the bottle - he'd been right; he didn't have any issues handling it luckily.

He sat up and lifted the water to his lips. Room temperature but still refreshing. He drank greedily, taking huge gulps. He appreciated that Dean didn't seem particularly solicitous at the moment: he knew normally Dean would be telling him to take it easy. When Sam had to stop to catch his breath, he felt Dean's hand against his back.

"Y'okay?"

Sam nodded and Dean rubbed his back lazily.

"Need anything else?"

Sam shook his head.

"Wanna go back to sleep?"

Sam sighed and looked at his brother, then shrugged.

"I guess," he said softly.

"Okay, here," Dean held his hand out to get the water bottle back. Sam gave it to him. As Dean twisted around to set the bottle down and turn off the light, Sam sunk back down against his pillow facing his brother. A minute later Dean settled down too and threw an arm over Sam, his palm resting lightly against his his back. Sam just leaned into it, not giving a damn anymore, and Dean started rubbing his shoulders slowly. Sam flashed back to when they were kids with Dean doing this: Dean tended to put himself to sleep faster than Sam.

Sam smiled, remembering how he used to actually wake Dean back up so he could keep going. Dazed by sleep Dean would often just grunt, "what? Okay," and resume the back rub for a few minutes more before falling back asleep again.

Didn't seem like this would be one of those times though. Sam felt himself sinking into sleep rapidly, Dean's combined presence and the back rub pushing him faster into unconsciousness than he'd anticipated. Half-asleep, Sam lost his inner monologue.

"Remember when we were kids'n you'd do this?"

"Wha-?" Dean asked blearily, still rubbing Sam's back.

"When I was a kid," Sam prompted.

"Sure," Dean whispered, obviously falling asleep. Sam didn't say anything for awhile but his eyes opened wider when Dean spoke up again. "You're such a sap."

"Am not."

"I almost killed you when you were little too, y'know that?" Dean asked and Sam could tell he was smiling.

Sam, on the other hand, made a face in the dark. He knew it was actually kind of common for older siblings to attempt to hurt or kill their younger siblings when they were infants out of jealousy... but that just... didn't at all seem like Dean...

"What? How?" Sam asked, somewhat appalled, and definitely more awake. He could hear Dean chuckle sleepily.

"I hated you," he joked and Sam fake-punched him, surprising Dean who gasped at the hit then returned to laughter.

"Seriously, Dean," Sam practically whined, wanting to hear this.

Dean quieted and sighed, then gave one last soft chuckle.

"I, uh... I almost smothered you to death."

"There it is," Sam laughed and it was Dean's turn to fake-punch his little brother. "I am so not surprised..."

"Shut up, bitch."

Sam spent his laughter and realized he wanted to know more.

"How old was I?"

"Dunno. Little after Mom died," Dean offered solemnly.

"What stopped you from smothering me?"

"Dad found us and got me off you in time."

"D'you get in trouble?"

"Nah he knew I had no idea what I'd almost done. I was just as freaked out as him when I realized."

"So you weren't trying," Sam paused for comic emphasis, "to smother me?"

"No, man. You'd woken up - fussy or something - having a nightmare maybe. I just accidentally fell asleep on you after I got you to settle down."

Sam thought about that for a few seconds, admittedly touched.

"That's... fucking adorable," Sam laughed... but it was true.

Dean snorted and feigned another hit against Sam's shoulder.

"Go to sleep."

"Promise you won't smother me."

Dean laughed.

"No."

* * *

6 AM

Dean was the first to wake up with no feeling in his left arm and Sam's dumb sleepy face turned down against him. Breathing was coming easily to him and Dean took a second to relax his own post-wake anxiety haze: too many symptoms of Sam's were turning up while they slept.

Almost literally rolling out of bed, it took him a couple wobbly steps more to gain balance as he walked out of the bedroom, blankets trailing off him onto the floor. He padded through the underground estate to the kitchen. Two messy scoops to the filter, a full pot of water to the reservoir, and five minutes of just standing there blinking, listening to the coffee gurgle, appreciating its scent as it filled the cold kitchen.

"Hey," Kevin grunted, walking in while Dean rubbed sleep out of his eye. Dean hummed in acknowledgment as he reached for three mugs with his right arm, his left still getting over pins and needles. The coffee beeped, Kevin sat down at the kitchen table, and Dean poured. When he set the mugs down on the kitchen table Kevin whispered a thank you and claimed one, wrapping his hands around the warmth of it as he pulled it across the table and against his chest.

Dean took his coffee black too and sipped it as he grabbed milk from the fridge, sugar from the counter to fix Sam's.

"You ready to get back to it today?" Dean asked roughly. Kevin nodded, knowing Dean was referring to studying the tablet.

"Started on it a little bit last night," Kevin replied sleepily. Dean frowned with approval, then looked at Kevin perceptively as he poured milk and dropped sugar into Sam's mug.

"You still on the uppers I gave you?"

Kevin shook his head.

"They're on Garth's boat."

Dean nodded and Kevin could tell Dean was weighing a decision. He came to a conclusion and sighed.

"Let's keep it that way," he said pointedly, fixing Kevin with a patient stare.

Kevin returned the look with a bleary, grateful smile.

"Okay."

"Okay."

Dean sighed again, but this time it sounded suspiciously like contentment, and dropped the spoon onto the the kitchen table.

"'M gonna go bring this to Sam," Dean muttered as he lifted the second mug of coffee from the table. Kevin wiped his face and nodded.

"'Kay."

"F'you need anything, let me know," Dean offered just as he left the kitchen and quietly, carefully made his way back to his bedroom with coffee in both hands. He was betting high Sam would wake with the promise of freshly brewed coffee.

He stepped inside cautiously, the room still dark, and made his way to where he knew the side table was in his room next to his side of the bed. He set the mugs down and turned the light on.

"Hey," he murmured to Sam, who'd reacted by shifting around, turning onto his back. Grimacing, he blinked up at Dean as he sat down on the side of the bed. "Got coffee," Dean added, pulling the mug over to him and Sam hummed, pleased, and sat up against the headboard.

Dean took a second to assess his brother as Sam slurped his coffee. He'd long since given up Sam's weird tendency to slurp coffee in the mornings. The king of manners, when it was just the two of them Sam obviously didn't give a damn. Dean ruled that Sam looked okay; pale, but only from just having woken up. He moved tiredly but, again, that was because he'd only just woken up. But also really the best way to figure this shit out was just by asking.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asked casually, taking a gulp from his own coffee.

"Not bad," Sam replied evenly. "Coffee's good," he added. Dean gave a sideways smile and nodded. Sam took another sip before looking up at his brother. "So what's the game plan?"

"For today?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, moving around to sit up straighter.

Dean shrugged.

"Kevin's caffeinating in the kitchen. He'll get started on the tablet soon. Already worked some on it last night," Dean said slowly, making sure Sam wouldn't get lost in his explanation. Sam looked good but he'd still had a seizure last night. Recouping wasn't often only one night's rest.

Sam nodded in understanding and took another sip of his coffee.

"You and I get another free day, though," Dean said dully, absently staring at nothing in particular. Sam looked up at him and Dean realized that was his cue to grin. He smiled and clapped Sam on the knee.

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled wryly.

"Joy," Sam deadpanned. Dean chuckled.

...

10 AM

Kevin's head and eyes were hurting him as he stared at the consistently shaky,  _moving_  patterns and sketches on the tablet. He'd had several cups of coffee. No breakfast yet. He'd been debating taking a break for awhile now but he hesitated about going in to Dean's room to visit them. He didn't really want to intrude but then again he figured maybe he could make his excuse something about breakfast. Dean would probably appreciate an excuse to make food so he could push a meal on Sam. Maybe. Kevin didn't want to presume but he still figured it was a safe claim.

He rubbed his eyes and temples, leaning back in his chair, and huffed a sigh of relief. He pushed his chair out and walked lightly out of the library into the hallway, trying to listen for what Sam and Dean were doing before he appeared in the open doorway.

He heard canny audio playing that he couldn't make out overlaid with quiet snickers. Assured they were both probably in good moods, he knocked against the wall and turned in, finding the brothers looking at Sam's laptop propped up by Dean's knees. Sam was lying down comfortably and smiling up at the screen before his eyes drifted to Kevin.

"Hey," Kevin said tiredly. Dean looked up and grinned as he closed the laptop.

"Hey Kevin," Dean said, sounding fresh. Kevin muttered another 'hey' as he walked into the room, figuring the closed laptop was his invitation to come in. He sat down on the chair at Dean's desk and angled towards the bed.

"What's up?" Dean asked. "Any success?"

Kevin shrugged sadly and shook his head.

"Wanted a break. Thinking about breakfast."

Dean nodded and looked at Sam expectantly.

"You hungry?" He nudged his brother. Sam gave a brief wince and shrugged in response. "Cool. I'll make pancakes or something," Dean resolved pleasantly. Kevin smiled, grateful that Dean was so amenable. His interest shifted to the laptop.

"What were you watching?" He asked them, nodding to the computer.

"Stupid Youtube videos."

Kevin smiled and nodded knowingly. Even before he became a prophet he never really had the time to enjoy the useless idiocy of watching stupid videos on Youtube but it seemed like just as decent a past time as any to entertain a sick sibling.

"Obviously Dean's idea," Sam added.

"Kev where're you working?" Dean asked lightly.

"What do you mean?"

"You in the study?"

"Yeah."

"Since this morning?" He clarified, surprised.

"Uh...yeah."

Kevin started to wonder where this was going. Sam shifted to look at his brother with just as much confusion and Dean turned to look at him for a second before returning to Kevin.

"You ever study in bed?"

"What? No," Kevin almost laughed. Sam huffed a chuckle along with him and Dean ticked back to look at his brother.

"What? You used to study in bed all the time," Dean said defensively.

"I studied  _on_  the bed. And it was only because there was never a table big enough to spread my stuff out in the motel rooms we had."

"-you grew up in motel rooms-?" Kevin interjected but it was ignored. Kevin stored it to think about for later.

"Got you into Stanford," Dean shrugged.

" _I_  got me into Stanford  _despite_  having to study in bed all the time."

Dean raised his hands palms up.

"S'cuse me, princess."

"You know I always preferred libraries."

"Thought you liked libraries for the books, nerd, not the tables."

Sam shrugged, hardly able to conceal a smile.

"I liked both," Sam offered. "Ultimately there's only one thing I want from a bed."

Sam paused, looking at his brother. Dean stared right back.

Kevin noticed something of a silent conversation between the two but it didn't seem to be mutual understanding. Then they both spoke at the same time:

"Sleep."

"Sex."

They both visibly recoiled from each other as Kevin laughed.

"There're two kinds of people..." Kevin observed comically just as Sam, disgusted, started weakly pushing Dean away towards the edge of the bed.

"Let me - ow, Sam - let me ask you this-" Dean laughed as he pretended Sam's pushes were stronger than they were. He was planning on getting out of bed to make breakfast anyway so he let Sam continue his bats and shoves to edge him off. "When God gave you a dick-"

"-Get away!" Sam shouted, laughing, as Dean shielded his brother's ineffective hits. Dean managed to grab Sam's wrists and hold tight as he finished his dig.

"-were you like  _totally_  baffled?" Dean asked, his tone mockingly genuine and serious.

Sam just grunted unintelligibly out of frustration between his caught wrists and his brother's obnoxious insult. Dean laughed and let go of his brother's wrists. He backed off the bed just as Sam spoke up.

"We've been sharing a bed for like over a week now, Dean - last thing I wanted to hear," Sam said pointedly with a perfect mix of repulsion and humor. Dean flinched, his expression shifting into disdainful revulsion.

"Oh ew," Dean backed away, looking at Sam, "you're nasty, you know that?"

Sam's eyes widened with indignation.

" _I'm_  nasty?!  _You_ -"

"No,  _you_  took it there-" Dean pointed at Sam as he started moving towards the door.

" _You_  did!"

"No," Dean replied glibly, petulant.

"I-"

"Shut up I'm making you pancakes," Dean yelled back just as he left the room, solidifying his word as last.

Sam huffed and folded his arms. He looked at Kevin, still sitting with his coffee and smiling, having been suitably entertained by that exchange.

" _I_  didn't take it there," Sam said lowly. Kevin grinned and shrugged, unwilling to take sides. Sam sighed with annoyance again and looked around the bed. He grabbed the laptop and pulled it up.

"You wanna watch the videos Dean and I were looking at?"

Kevin's eyes lit up.

"Yeah."

"C'mere," Sam said casually.

Kevin felt kinda awkward but he figured Sam's permission granted him protection if Dean were to call him out on being in his bed. He sat down next to Sam rigidly, sitting up straight against the headboard, arms and legs kept as close to himself as possible. He relaxed as Sam didn't do or say anything except open the computer and navigate to the site's browsing section. Thumbnails and titles popped up and Sam scrolled through them slowly.

"What do you think looks good?" Sam asked quietly, sounding like he was just voicing a question he'd been thinking. Kevin felt okay to lean closer against Sam to focus on the screen's listed links.

"What about that one?" Kevin suggested with a pointed finger at an image on the screen, uncertain.

"Sure," Sam replied, clicking on it without hesitation.

They continued to play around on the site and eventually the smell of pancakes wafted through to the bedroom. Sam mentioned that it smelled good and Kevin agreed as he glanced at his watch. They'd been at it for like forty-five minutes... and it dawned on him that while Sam had been navigating the site, he'd still been letting Kevin choose all the videos they'd been watching. That said, just one look at Sam assured him that he'd been having fun.

When Sam asked Kevin to go check if the pancakes were ready, Kevin hopped off the bed, surprisingly happy and ready to help, and went in search of Dean. As he followed the scent of breakfast to the kitchen, Kevin wasn't a hundred percent sure what had just happened but he felt like maybe that was what it felt like to get to hang out with a cool older brother.

* * *

2 PM.

Sam slowly awoke to the sounds of his brother eating a sandwich beside him.

"What're you doing?" Sam mumbled.

"Eating a sandwich. Want a bite?" Dean offered and Sam opened his eyes to the sight of a sandwich jam-packed with what looked like ten different ingredients. Sam recoiled as it loomed directly in front of his face.

"Jesus..."

"No Kevin made it," Dean replied, not missing a beat, and pulled away so he could take another bite. Sam huffed and pushed the covers off his chest, gazing blearily around the room and back to Dean. Dean had the laptop out, clicking through what looked like news articles.

"Working?"

"Actually," Dean took a huge bite. He found no qualms with continuing his sentence though: "I'm just reading the news."

"Wow."

"I know," Dean replied sardonically.

Sam didn't push it. He just worked on gathering his wits, maybe trying to come up with something to do now that he was awake again.

"How's Kevin?"

Dean shrugged.

"Truckin' along."

Sam shifted around again, pulling more covers off as he sat up against the headboard. Dean glanced over expectantly, then noticed the blankets.

"You hot?"

Sam shrugged and shook his head.

"No 'm fine," Sam said honestly.

"How's your mouth?"

"Sore."

"What about the rest of you?" Dean asked, referring to whether or not Sam's body or limbs had gotten slammed during the seizure. The kitchen floor wasn't exactly cushioned after all.

"Bruised probably; nothing I can't handle."

Dean looked him over critically and finally nodded, turning back to the computer. After a few beats of silence, Dean spoke up again.

"Feel like doing anything?" Dean asked, still looking at the computer screen. Sam stretched, noticed his painfully sore back and shoulder, and considered the question.

"Dunno," Sam replied dully. "Maybe a shower."

Dean's turn to sigh before closing the computer. He turned to Sam, looking relaxed, and took another bite of his sandwich.

"Bath. You had a seizure," Dean pointed out lazily as he chewed. Sam was past embarrassment and nodded.

"Fair enough."

"Yeah?" Dean sounded surprised and Sam shrugged. "Cool. Found a crossword puzzle we can do."

"You hate crossword puzzles."

"I do," Dean nodded as he started to get up. Sam took it as his cue to sit up all the way as well. Dean came around to his side of the bed to spot him. "Seriously though crossword puzzles find the worst ways to describe one word- y'okay?-" Dean suddenly crouched as Sam almost stumbled while rising to stand. He grabbed Sam's elbow for balance.

"Yeah yeah I'm fine-" Sam assured, getting his bearings back.

"-cool. But yeah crossword puzzles describe porches as shit like 'screened-in minihouses'..." Dean complained, cautiously letting his brother go as Sam took a couple steps. He was a little off but nothing worrisome.

"I remember that crossword. You thought it was 'shack,'" Sam bantered back. He shuffled towards the door.

"It  _should've_  been shack!" Dean argued.

"Shacks aren't screened-in," Sam pointed out just as he started walking into the hallway.

" _You're_  not... screened-in..." Dean grumbled loudly.

"Good one, Dea- oh wait did you get my clothes?"

"Yeah I'll get 'em while you wash up," Dean answered casually, still walking a half-step behind Sam to spot him as they made their way to the bathroom.

"'kay," Sam said. His body  _was_  sore, he realized, and so he really didn't mind Dean's hovering. Didn't feel like he'd collapse any time soon but then again how many times had that sense failed him in the past?

Sam winced at the thought, hoping he hadn't jinxed himself.

Too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger here too - whatever collapse Sam makes I promise it won't be a repeat symptom. ;) I have one in mind but feel free to suggest other possible causes: I'm not against mixing & meshing conditions to continue Sam's suffering, lol.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading & please please comment/review if you can spare the time! Thank you so much again! ~ Alex


	34. "Oh. You're Resonating."

Sam's eyes drifted upwards in thought, suddenly remembering Dean's reference.

"I remember that crossword," he said, recalling Dean at sixteen in the passenger seat turning around to tell Sam that his crossword puzzles were stupid. Sam, ever the precocious child, had claimed that Dean was in fact the stupid one. "You thought it was 'shack,'" Sam finished as he shuffled his way to the door. He winced imperceptibly, a sharp sound ringing out through his ears then disappearing.

"It  _should've_  been shack!" Dean argued, his frustration from over fifteen years ago reigniting as easily as anything. It was for Sam's benefit. Sam knew. He appreciated it. Hearing Dean go grumpy over inconsequential things was admittedly pretty funny to Sam. Some things never change like that.

"Shacks aren't screened-in," Sam said playfully, turning into the hallway. He heard his brother make a  _psh_  sound behind him and smiled even as he pressed his fingers against his ears, another random throbbing pain of sound flashing through then vanishing again.

" _You're_  not... screened-in," Dean muttered loudly, nudging Sam's shoulder lightly. The pain gone, Sam let go of his head and chuckled as he staggered slowly towards the bathroom, his balance slightly off now.  _What was this_ , Sam wondered, annoyed.  _Tinnitus_? That wouldn't make sense though; he hadn't suffered any injuries that'd cause something like that. Sam convinced himself to write it off as a fluke. It'd only happened twice in the past, like, minute anyway. Everyone gets weird aches and pains every once in awhile.

"Good one, Dea-" Sam stopped the sarcasm and turned to look at his brother, "oh wait did you get my clothes?" he asked.

Dean nodded and gestured for Sam to keep going.

"Yeah I'll get 'em while you wash up," Dean answered casually, making sure to still walk a half-step behind Sam to spot him as they made their way to the bathroom.

"'Kay," Sam said. His body was just sore, Sam rationalized as another swift throbbing ring shot through him then vanished. He glanced at his brother, not really minding the hovering. The fact that Dean was watching him so closely and still hadn't noticed Sam's reactions to these weird fleeting pains made Sam feel better. If he could cover it up even as weak as he was it couldn't be a big deal. Also Sam definitely didn't feel like he'd collapse any time soon.

Then again how many times had that sense failed him in the past?

Sam cringed at the thought, hoping he hadn't just jinxed himself.

It was on the heels of that thought that the ringing phased back in and didn't stop, its volume rising, rendering his balance and general orientation null. Sam gasped, clutched his head, and took a step forward, hunching over to brace himself better under the onslaught of noise and the wavering floor. He heard Dean shout his name but it sounded far away like on the other end of a tunnel as what felt like a megaphones' sirens two inches from both sides of his head screaming into him. Sam couldn't think, the wildly painful tonal life and rise drilling into his mind and reverberating down through his whole body.

He vaguely felt arms wrap around him, his brother hefting him backwards against his chest, and Sam let himself crumple in pain, nearly in tears from the shrill intense ringing that only seemed to be getting louder and more insistent as it pierced into him.

Sam barely registered the slow sinking journey his brother was taking him on to the floor before he blacked out entirely.

* * *

Sam woke up in bed with a splitting headache, his brother's arms around him, quiet nervous whispers that he couldn't quite make out getting exchanged from above.

Distracted by whoever he was talking to, Sam was willing to bet Dean hadn't noticed his entry back to consciousness and he wanted to keep it that way until he could track his memories.

Which was difficult.

His head was killing him, he was thirsty, and the pounding drums like fucking massive gongs kept shattering through his mind, distracting him from focusing on anything other than the miserable pain they were causing.

Sam reached back as far as he could go and managed to recall he'd had a seizure - a bad one. It explained his sore tongue when he'd moved it around just a second ago to figure out if it was dry.

He remembered he'd been feeling cloudy but still fine though. They'd been on their way to the bathroom so Sam could take another bath. He'd been okay; strong enough to carry his own weight... Dean was only accompanying him because he'd been worried Sam might have another seizure in the tub.

Then nothing. He couldn't recall anything past the hallway. Total memory black out.

Had he had another seizure?

It seemed unlikely... he would've remembered  _something_  like an aura or that sense of dread that always came over him when it was going to be a big one. The only reason he could have a total blackout like what he was experiencing was if he'd nailed his head on the way down to the floor...

But... Dean had been with him. Right behind him.

As much as Sam - and Dean - were against acknowledging that Dean could rival any helicopter these days - Sam really had no choice but to think it was a plainly absurd notion that he'd fallen and sustained any kind of head trauma with his brother right there behind him.

Sam had to take awhile to think this through, all the while hearing the continued muffled whispers of conversation going on. He was only hearing out of one ear, his head mashed up against Dean's shoulder. He thanked God Dean wasn't clutching him or anything. Feeling nauseous from only the headache pounding against his skull, he'd definitely throw up if his brother added pressure to his waist or stomach.

That's when Sam realized Dean actually didn't have his hands on him at all - he was talking with them while he spoke, occasionally resting them along Sam's side.

Sam did his best not to move or squirm while he was so closely tucked against his brother; he wanted to eavesdrop and Dean was too aware: he'd pick up on any deliberate movement.

"-don't need anything else?"

Sam recognized Kevin's soft, worried tone. It didn't do much to allay any anxieties of his own.

"Yeah just make sure they stay away until whatever this is-" Sam felt his brother wrap his whole arm around Sam's back and shoulders. Sam fought the urge to hug his brother back, "-passes all right?"

Dean generally sounded better than Kevin - more in control; relaxed. Then again Dean played that role like Mozart on piano.

"Got it."

Their conversation stopped but Sam didn't hear Kevin moving away; the kid must just be standing there -?

Sam considered Dean's words in the meantime. Who were "they" and why did they need to stay away until he was better?  _Kevin_  didn't have to stay away... why did Dean feel the need to kick "they" out?

Perhaps they were a threat-? But if they were enemies or just generally untrustworthy, it wouldn't explain why Dean seemed so calm.

Dean angled a little more towards Sam to face Kevin. It left Sam pressed up more against Dean's chest than shoulder - a good break for him because he wanted to hear his brother's heart beat. Dean had been lying with confidence and poise since he was six years old but he couldn't cheat a pulse.

"Can I ask you something?" Kevin asked in a small voice. Dean's heart paced easily as he felt Dean nod. "They're angels, Dean. What does... What does it mean about this... these trials... that Sam can't be near them?"

" _What?_ " Sam rasped harshly, his own heart beat and adrenaline rocketing. The charade was up; he needed answers now and he wasn't going to get them any faster with this ruse.

He reconsidered that thought when within a split-second he found himself getting manhandled off his brother to lie down all the way, Dean's hovering urgent imperatives to report on his health blaring like their own sirens into his still fragile mind.

Sam blinked, clearing his vision as Dean spoke.

"Sam, you awake? How you feeling man?"

"Why did you kick Cas out?" Sam whispered roughly, his throat dry and tongue sore.

"Sam look at me and track my fingers," Dean replied, putting his index up directly in front of him. Sam coughed.

"Who's with Cas?" Sam gritted out impatiently, reluctantly following Dean's finger.

"What happened before you passed out - do you remember?" Dean asked authoritatively.  _Yeah,_  Sam thought,  _that shit works on everyone else Dean but not me_.

"Where are they now Dean? Do they know something? Did they-" Sam gasped and realized he was practically hyperventilating.

"Sam, Sammy relax-" Dean pleaded, palming the side of Sam's head.

"Dean  _tell me_!" Sam wheezed.

Dean kept his hand on Sam's head and brushed through it a couple times during their silent battle of wills. Dean looked haggard and scared but Sam was desperate to know, his watery eyes glinting with a nearly fanatical need to discover the third trial if they'd found it.

Dean swallowed and gave an imperceptible nod. Sam clenched his jaw while he let his body relax, relief flowing through him that Dean was going to tell.

"Okay Sam," Dean whispered sadly, "Kevin, give us a few," Dean added, still looking into Sam's eyes. In Sam's peripheral vision he saw Kevin back away from the bed.

"Just relax first okay," Dean murmured, pushing off from his hovering position over his brother and pulling the blankets up further around him. Sam gritted his teeth but let it go as he watched Kevin quietly leave. "Catch your breath, man," Dean added quietly just as Kevin shut the door, giving them an added unexpected, foreboding element of privacy. Sam realized Kevin must know.

Sam was the only one of the loop here now.

He watched his brother and bit his lip.

"S'it bad? The third trial?" Sam asked, his voice cracking on the last word. Dean sighed and washed a hand down his face. When he looked back at his brother his eyes had taken on a glassy film of tears.

Sam would never get used to that look; his own emotions always tripping at the sight of his brother failing to keep his facade.

"Dean-?," Sam prompted shakily.

"Okay," Dean breathed, "the third trial's a ritual. Cas found Metatron. They're preparing it now."

"What is it?"

Dean hesitated, worry and exhaustion etched on his face. Sam could tell Dean hadn't been facing up to the truth Sam was asking for... a truth Sam was about to practically wrench out of him...

" _Dean_!"

Dean twitched like Sam had slapped him. He took a breath and softened.

"It's gonna be rough, Sammy," Dean whispered. "But they're doing all the work. All we need to do is wait a little longer 'til they come get us."

"How much longer?" Sam asked, his voice thick and gravelly.

Dean pursed his lips and broke his gaze from his little brother to look down. Sam's heart skipped with something like pure dread when a tear fell from Dean's eye onto the bedspread.

"Not much longer, Sammy," Dean sniffed.

Sam let it sink in, his heart choppy and his own distress ratcheting up from the way Dean was acting.

"Dean," Sam asked shakily, barely able to hold off a sob, "am I gonna die?"

Dean tried so hard to smile but there was nothing but despairing grief in it.

"You might," Dean admitted wetly, "They said..." Dean struggled to swallow then continued, "they said odds were..." Dean trailed off. He rubbed his eyes clear and messed with his nose a couple times. "But you know... what we said, Sam," Dean said rather loudly, overcompensating, trying to cheer Sam up. Sam winced, staring at his brother as he continued, slowly shaking his head with doubt and fear, his hope draining along with any color left on his face rendering his complexion stark and ghostly word after every word his big brother added to his bullshit pep talk...

"Yeah Sam, no listen to me. We won't let that happen, you understand? You're gonna survive this. It's not a zero-sum game, Sam, you understand?"

Dean spoke solidly but his voice was still scratchy; still on the verge of tears and as Sam's eyes drilled into Dean's he could see the boundless terror of losing Sam just beneath the surface.

And as much as Sam had wanted the strength to face death with honorable acceptance, too much had happened to leave Dean now.

Sam realized he didn't want to go.  _Jesus_ , Sam thought, reality hitting him full force...

He really didn't want to die.

And with the revelation came his own brand of tearing eyes, clenching jaw and a bit lip to hold off from making an emotional fool of himself in the face of near-certain death.

"Sam. Don't. Sam, I promise you. I  _promise_ , Sammy-"

Sam looked up at Dean, eyes bright with tears about to break and stream down his cheeks.

Dean was trying... he was trying so damn hard... and Sam appreciated it but honestly it only made things worse. Sam's eyes burned, his thoughts spun on a loop, overwhelming and swallowing him in with the dual certainties that he was going to die for this... and dear god... spending this time with Dean and looking into his eyes right now...

Sam didn't want to die for this. He  _couldn't_  die for this. It wasn't fucking fair - Dean  _needed_  him.

Sam had to break his brother's gaze, his mind a flurry of deepening hopelessness as his eyes wandered just as frantically both everywhere and no where for an answer - for salvation - even though he knew there was  _nothing._

Sam gave a small hiccup of a sob, muffled it as best he could with his trembling, wraith-like, spindly hand as he looked down and stared at the bedspread, ashamed and embarrassed that this was getting to him.

Suddenly Dean was on him, practically picking him up under his arms and pulling him in against his chest. Sam was limp but he needn't have bothered to help Dean anyway; his brother did all the work angling and folding him into his lap, holding Sam's curled, tilted form tight in his arms, one hand landing on his head and carding through his hair gently.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured into his ear. Sam tried to hold his breath against crying any further and slowly wrapped his arms around Dean. "It's gonna be okay, all right?" Dean's voice cracked.

At the sound of his brother's small break, Sam couldn't hold back. He let go in his brother's arms.

Dean tightened his hold as Sam clutched him. He dipped his own head against Sam's neck as his little brother cried into his shoulder. He rocked them for awhile, shushing Sam with an easy reassuring rhythm - it wasn't a gesture to actually silence Sam. It was just a sound of comfort; the sound Dean always used to calm his brother even when he'd been a baby... during his childhood, adolescence and, yes of course, even as an adult.

Some things just never changed.

Sam quieted eventually but he kept his posture still, making no move to get out from under his brother's warmth and protection. Dean kissed the side of his head right before he whispered a question.

"Sammy I thought you were okay with this," Dean murmured, his voice crackly with his own silent tears. Dean understood his brother more than anyone but the question had its merits. Either Sam would nod and get himself together or he wouldn't and it'd still be okay; Dean had him. They were still safe; still alive and breathing and together. They could still talk this out - they could still handle this.

"It's different..." Sam said weakly, "knowing."

Dean was about to object: they didn't know anything. They always beat the odds; this time would be no different-

"I want to stay," Sam whimpered and fell into a few more soft cries as he pulled himself up to reach more of Dean, tightening his hold into a full-fledged shivering, terrified hug. "- _with you"_  was the implied finish of his sentence. Dean didn't miss it. He gave a shuddering sigh and lined his arm up with Sam's spine, his hand resting along the back of Sam's neck. They stayed like that for a minute or two until Dean had an answer.

"You will, Sammy. Always, okay?" Dean promised, knowing it was vague; knowing it had a double-meaning that managed to both comfort and depress. Dean let his words sink in before he ruled out the depressing one: "We're going out together when we're old... and gross," Dean added comically and felt Sam jerk and huff a weepy laugh, "because you're going to survive this trial, close the gates of hell, and then you know what we're gonna do Sammy?"

Sam sniffed and shifted his head, engaged.

"No, what?" Sam scratched out and Dean rubbed his back.

"We get to  _retire_ ," Dean laughed roughly and Sam joined in, his throat obviously more destroyed than Dean's, and nodded against his brother's shoulder.

"Okay," Sam whispered dejectedly, knowing he had to play along if he couldn't face the truth... and he didn't think he could.

Not now that he  _knew_.

Not now after all they'd gone through.

Because his death  _now_...?

Before - when they'd fought over his death before he'd  _actually_  almost died - it was still just a theory... and an impersonal one at that... filled with the steadfast conviction that Dean would be fine.

Things had changed though.

Sam desperately didn't want to leave his brother.

He felt Dean shift around and reach for something on the bedside table.

"Here - you sound like shit," Dean muttered as Sam moved off Dean just an inch to see the water bottle he was holding. Sam sniffed and blinked as he reached for it to gulp a few mouthfuls, still shamelessly half-hugging his brother. Dean allowed it, bracing him carefully, knowing full well that Sam was still weak and needed his support.

When Sam gave the water bottle back he slumped back against Dean, exhausted, and felt his brother place the bottle back before wrapping his hands around Sam again too - lightly, almost casually this time - and sigh.

"You need to fill me in," Sam said dully, staring, unseeing, down his brother's back and his own thin bony hands spread open on it.

"I know," Dean nodded, brushing his head against Sam's.

"On all of it, Dean."

"I know, Sammy," Dean hugged his brother and rubbed his back. "I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	35. Prep Part I

Dean felt Sam going limp in his arms after a couple of minutes. While he'd nailed it a few times in the past he still wasn't a mind reader when it came to his little brother. As much as he wanted to just  _know_  so he didn't have to address their current situation so plainly, he realized there really wasn't much of an option because he  _didn't_  know and Sam wasn't giving him anything. He hefted Sam up against him and rubbed his back a couple times before angling his head closer to Sam's ear. He cleared his throat lightly, feeling awkward now that he was coming down from the emotional fireworks of the past half hour.

"Want me to tell you like this?" Dean asked, his voice scratchy but gentle. Sam tensed and sighed. Dean felt Sam wipe his face down, sniffling over his shoulder but still getting himself together.

"No," Sam swallowed, "no..."

"You wanna lie down?"

Dean felt Sam shake his head.

"Nah I can sit up," Sam replied quietly and slowly started to detach.

"No stop I got it," Dean said, grasping Sam back to keep him hugged to him. Sam didn't have much choice but to slump back against his brother. He wasn't that frail per se but he definitely didn't compare to Dean's strength... which actually annoyed him now. Especially if Dean was about to do something stupid like try to make a joke out of this shit by taking advantage of Sam's weakened state.

"Dean-" Sam uttered, his voice pitched with irritation.  _I swear to God_  was the tacit add-on to the way he'd said his brother's name. Dean smiled but, knowing what conversation they'd need to have next, didn't rise to the bait of banter even though he really wanted to. Even though he so wanted to forget what Cas had told him over his unconscious brother's body after Metatron had arrived and practically blown his little brother's ears out.

"Shut up. I'm just gonna put you against the headboard so you don't have to do it yourself," Dean explained as he got up into a kneel while still holding Sam to him and started pushing him up towards the pillows. Sam sighed, held on, and let him get on with it.

Dean was getting the pillows comfortable with his little brother still clinging to him when Sam spoke up again.

"I could do this myself you know," he said dryly.

"Don't be a bitch."

"M'not," Sam whined back immediately. Dean smiled as he finished then manhandled his brother up and against the pillows with a couple of grunts and a few small gasps from Sam.

"Sorry sorry," Dean murmured every time Sam lost his breath for a second during the exertion. He leaned back on his haunches, looking at Sam's position sitting fully upright against the pillows. "Better?"

Sam coughed into his hand as he nodded. He blinked a couple times, eyes still glassy, but quirked a tiny smile when he looked back up at his brother.

"Now get me a sandwich."

Dean rolled his eyes, smiling wide. After a second he considered it and suddenly really wanted to get Sam a sandwich.

"You hungry? Really?" Dean offered, looking hopeful.

Sam's turn to roll his eyes, his smile was sad though.

"No it was a joke," he replied, then leaned over to reach for the water bottle, "don't stall this. I need to know," he finished grimly as he brought the water bottle to his lips and took a few sips.

Dean deflated a bit. Okay, so he wasn't a mind reader when it came to Sam but it seemed like Sam was for him.

Whatever.

Dean gave a heavy sigh and figured he'd just go the band-aid rip-off route.

"Okay," Dean breathed, his tone going soft, "you were right before."

Sam stopped drinking from the water bottle and squinted at his brother.

"About what?"

"The trials were supposed to have been completed faster than this."

Fear flashed through Sam's eyes but disappeared a second later. Sam, Dean realized, never got enough credit for his own facade.

"What does that mean for the third trial?" Sam asked, his voice crackly with an obviously raw throat but his tone was the level cut and dry, no-bullshit style Dean was used to hearing from him when they talked the details of their cases. Dean stared at his brother, stalling his answer by just admiring the kid's fortitude. He inwardly shook his head... Sam was too good for his own good...

"The third trial is about receiving grace directly from God," Dean stated, then stopped to watch Sam's reception. Sam made a face, confused.

"Grace... grace like...? Angel grace?"

Dean gave a sideways nod, equivocal.

"Yeah... but not."

Sam stared at his brother, a disbelieving look on his face matched with a raised eyebrow. Dean cringed, knowing he wasn't explaining this correctly.

"It's not like you become an angel or anything. It's a separate thing-"

"-That's gonna kill me?"

"Well it wouldn't if we'd known and done it earlier but Metatron said-"

"Wait hold up. Metatron?  _The_  Metatron?"

"Yeah. Cas found Metatron holed up in some random Indian reservation and got him to come help us. He filled us in on what the tablets say - Kevin's off the hook from reading them now."

Dean stopped, sighed, ran a hand through his hair.

"Metatron said that the state you're in now... your odds of survival are low."

"Like how low?" Sam asked despite the pit in his stomach. Dean flicked his eyes up to stare directly into Sam's.

"Low."

Silence reigned between them for awhile. The two of them still as statues: Dean waiting for Sam's full-fledged reaction, Sam giving himself the time to register everything and come to terms with it.

Eventually Sam sighed and rubbed his hands down his face, pushing deep into his eyes and lightly scratching his cheeks. He let his chin fall slightly onto his palm, staring at the bedspread as he thought. He started shaking his head lightly before he lifted back up, eyes tired, expression weary.

"I'm gonna die anyway, aren't I? Even if we called it off."

Dean pursed his lips before licking them and gave a small nod in reply.

"So the low odds. They're still the best odds I have of surviving this?"

"Yeah," Dean whispered apologetically.

Sam nodded and cinched his lips to the side as he took a deep breath. He let it out softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. No way he was going to ask if it was going to hurt - if this was going to be torture before his nearly inevitable death. He wasn't going to ask that.

"Native American," he muttered, eyes still closed.

Dean's expression switched from mournful to bewildered.

"What?"

"Native American reservation," Sam supplied tiredly, moving his hand away to look at his brother. He smiled wanly. "They're not called Indian reservations anymore."

Dean raised an eyebrow as he slowly returned the smile then actually snorted with incredulity.

"Such a geek," Dean muttered, shaking his head as he made to get off the bed. Sam rasped a few chuckles and Dean stepped up to mess with Sam's hair.

"I want to make you something - what're you hungry for?" Dean asked, pulling his hands off Sam's head. Sam looked up at his brother and shrugged weakly.

"I'm fine with whatever."

"Okay I'll be right back, Sammy," Dean murmured, unable to hold back from stroking Sam's head one more time, this time with genuine affection, before leaving.

"Thanks," Sam offered, managing to give Dean a sweet smile for his brother before Dean turned away and left the bedroom.

...

Dean surprised Sam with a collection of healthy snacks Sam wasn't even aware Dean knew about. When he asked he realized his big brother actually  _hadn't_  been aware of them because it'd been _Kevin_  that'd done the grocery shopping.

Celery and peanut butter with raisins, plum, orange and salted tomato slices, popcorn, deli cheese and ham rolled up, apple-cinnamon rice cakes, fig newtons, a stick of string cheese, and some chicken-noodle soup were just a few of the items Dean had prepared in his signature slapdash style.

Sam honestly felt like he was eight years old again.

 _Ants on a log, Dean? Really?_  He'd asked sardonically, staring at the snack-laden platter placed in front of him in bed. Dean, of course, didn't pass up another chance to call him a bitch.

But in all truth Sam found himself enjoying the slight sense of regression. Sharing a bed in typical childish 'camping out' style, watching movies, eating food that'd been such staples while growing up...

Sam never thought he'd gotten the childhood he'd deserved but he was coming to realize that these small details Dean kept adding to things now were triggering memories and sentiments he'd always... kind of... taken for granted... maybe. Sam desperately wanted to rebel against the idea that he'd taken anything for granted but... when Sam was sick, injured, hungry or scared as a child, he  _had_  been taken care of. And almost completely without fail. Even when he hadn't, he'd known what circumstances were: he'd always had the psychological security, at least, of knowing Dean was doing his best - probably moving heaven and hell - to get back to him to be there for him.

As an adult Sam had thanked Dean a couple of times about this... but even then he hadn't changed his mind much that Dean had really only been doing the best he could. It was the same refrain Dean had always said about Dad. Sam had simply extended the expression to Dean thinking it was the best compliment to be given.

But Dad had  _sucked_  as a father. Sure, Sam loved him and had forgiven him a long time ago but it was still true. Whereas Dean had excelled at being a big brother.

It wasn't fair to put Dean in the same category of "doing the best he could" like he did Dad because Dean really  _had_  done  _the_  best. Dean deserved that superlative.

Sam was genuinely hard pressed to claim most families had such an unwavering connection of faith and trust that he knew existed between them. It was fucked up that he hadn't thought about it like this before...

Sam's slightly self-critical thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Dean gave him the option to eat in the tub to save time. Sam had said yes immediately, unable to help grinning over how Dean's offers kept rolling out recollections from Sam's past that even  _he'd_  forgotten... including his strange love for snacking during bath time when he was a kid.

Still, Sam knew Dean was masking their impending trip with as many lighthearted perks as he could. The third trial couldn't be undertaken in the bunker and the trip there (as directed by Metatron whom Sam still hadn't met yet) was going to take about a week given Sam's deteriorating health.

Apparently Metatron had said four days straight through but Dean had fought with him on that. Whether it was because Dean couldn't handle the possibility of Sam dying in four days or because he simply knew Sam would need more breaks and a bed every night was up in the air. Either way Sam had nearly started to cry again when Dean explained to him that they still had seven days at least.

Dean left for a second, oblivious to Sam's distress, to put Sam's clothes, extra towels, and the snack platter into the bathroom before coming back to get him. It afforded Sam the time he needed to calm down. It was enough to worry about the symptoms he didn't have any control over; Sam couldn't allow risking a panic attack by thinking he'd almost been sentenced to completing this trial - and probably dying - in four days.

To get on their way to the bathroom Dean wasn't taking chances anymore: he insisted on the rickety wheelchair that looked like a torture device and rolled him into the bathroom. Sam was strong enough to undress himself and get into the tub. After a few minutes Dean knocked and Sam invited him in.

Dean walked in grimacing and waving his hand in front of his face.

"The hell, dude - the water hot enough for you?" He grumbled, referring to the intense heat and humidity wafting off the water Sam had going.

"Shut up," Sam replied offhandedly, sinking down to his neck in the water and closing his eyes. "You got the crossword?"

"Yeah," Dean groaned as he sat down sorely onto the tiled floor. He pulled his sweatshirt off and stuffed it between his back and the wall before picking the New York Times back up to balance on his knees.

They went through a several hints, Sam glibly answering or dismissing certain prompts Dean read out to him as things he either immediately knew or didn't. They were at ten across when Dean stopped and leaned his head against the wall. After a few beats of silence Sam blinked and looked over at his brother.

"What?"

"Nothin'. Just thinkin'... I wanna put you in the back."

"What're you talking about?"

"Of the Impala."

"Oh," Sam replied dumbly, "no," he added, alarmed. "Why?"

Dean shrugged.

"It'd be more comfortable, wouldn't it?"

"No," Sam replied immediately, sounding somewhat harassed. "No, Dean, I-"

Sam paused, knowing he'd sound about as young as he'd been feeling but giving himself up for it anyway because fuck it.

"I want to stay up front with you," he said, inwardly cringing at how hurt he sounded.  _That_  was definitely an unintentional tone...

Dean quirked an eyebrow and turned to look at his little brother, smiling at him like he was catching him out on an embarrassing moment. Sam rolled his eyes and sat up in the tub to reach over for the platter of food Dean had placed on the closed toilet lid.

"I'm serious," Sam added, staring determinedly at the platter as he hovered a hand over it, pretending to consider what to eat first. Tentative silence followed, Sam unconsciously tensing over whether Dean would allow it.

"All right," Dean finally said breezily and Sam just knew he was smiling too much.

Sam gave a furtive glance at his brother to confirm before picking out a ham and cheese roll, his own dimples making a short-lived appearance before leaning back against the tub to clear his mind, enjoy his food, and solve the entire New York Times crossword Dean had brought in.

Because Sam knew that while Dean messed with him for being "such a geek," he actually loved it when Sam showed off how smart he was. Sam liked it too, if only because he knew it made Dean proud...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	36. Prep Part II

Dean paced back and forth behind the couch. The fire crackled in the fireplace at the far end of the study where the three of them had gathered in wait. Its flickering light splashed over the worn leather couches and armchairs; ornately carved side- and coffee-tables. While the electrical lights were always somewhat dim in the bunker Dean wasn't interested in turning them on. He was worried they'd further irritate Sam's headache and Sam had been through enough.

Sam was resting on the couch that faced the fireplace directly, a blanket in his lap, hair still wet, dressed in jeans and as many layers covering his upper body as Dean could wrangle onto him. He'd insisted, claiming it'd be better just in case Sam's temperature started fluctuating. Sam thought a short-sleeved undershirt, a long-sleeved Henley, a soft flannel button-up, and his old ratty hoodie was maybe overkill. Still, he was willing to cut Dean some slack and figured he'd just strip some off later while Dean wasn't looking. His brother was still a dude: he couldn't remember what people were wearing from one hour to the next if his life depended on it.

With the fire going at a healthy clip and the blanket covering his lower half, Sam was starting to overheat but as he glanced behind him to take a look at his brother he gave up trying to disrobe without being noticed. Dean was wound like a spring ready to pop and Sam wasn't too interested in letting him go off just because he spotted him taking his hoodie off.

Sam sighed, displeased, and his gaze wandered to the armchair beyond the far end of his couch. Kevin was just standing there, holding himself with crossed arms, darting awkward uncertain glances between him and Dean. Sam inwardly rolled his eyes.

"Kevin c'mere, sit down," he murmured, making room on the couch by pulling his feet up. He had to remember that while Dean's anxiety-ridden pacing seemed useless to him, it could come off intimidating to anyone else. He'd noticed Dean had curbed his attitude around Kevin recently - an admittedly nice development - but right now there wasn't a chance in hell his brother's angry brooding could be called off. He was in his own world and nothing short of a symptom relapse in Sam would pull him out of it... and Sam was kinda hoping against that one.

Kevin flinched at Sam's offer but tentatively moved forward as Sam kept his expectant gaze on the kid, finally gesturing impatiently to the other side of his couch. Kevin nodded quietly and came over to sit down, careful to keep space between them. Too careful. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not gonna break, Kevin," Sam said wearily, moving to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"You okay?" Dean asked suddenly and Sam blinked up to find his brother standing still, looking directly at him.

"Yeah I'm fine," Sam snapped, irritated. Kevin's twitchy nerves and Dean's brimming temper were wearing on him. He sighed, trying to release tension, and glanced at the grandfather clock by the side wall. "When're they supposed to arrive?"

Dean checked his watch.

"Any minute now."

"Okay," Sam sighed again. He let everything fall back into tense silence. Dean started pacing again and Kevin resumed fidgeting with his sweatshirt sleeves. "Great," Sam whispered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back tiredly.

A few minutes and the trio heard the sound of wings behind them near the library's entryway. They all turned, Kevin rising to his feet as Dean stalked his way towards them. Sam winced slightly, registering a dull tone thrumming through him. It wasn't like last time though - it felt low-grade and definitely less invasive; manageable.

"Finally," Dean grunted as he reached the angels, inadvertently blocking Sam's view of Metatron. Kevin made his way to where Dean had been just a second before and stopped, unconsciously staying close to Sam who'd been ordered to stay where he was when they arrived. Sam didn't really fight that instruction, especially now with Dean's back turned. Sam ripped off his hoodie and stuffed it between the cushions and his back. He started unbuttoning the flannel too before Dean caught him.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Dean. I was busy collecting items for the third trial," Castiel said, nonplussed by Dean's rather belligerent demeanor. Sam's heart skipped slightly at the blunt mention of the third trial.

"And that stopped Metatron from making it on time because-?"

"My grace is gone... well, lessened. I needed Cas's powers to take me here," a new, somewhat eager voice spoke up. Sam squinted and leaned back, trying to see.

"Is everyone here?" Cas asked before Dean could respond to Metatron. Dean moved back and gave a testy gesture toward the fire, allowing Sam to finally see Metatron while Cas swiftly made his way towards him and Kevin.

Sam had to blink a couple times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Metatron, the angel chosen by God himself to take down His words and edicts, had a small, pudgy middle-aged man for a vessel that needed dental work and, no joke, looked as though he smelled like cabbage. As he shuffled after Castiel, his posture hunched, his bearing obsequious, Sam literally had no idea what to think.

He caught a glimpse of Dean eyeing Metatron as he flanked the angel's way towards him. Sam's best clues came from Dean anyway and it was pretty clear his brother was harboring suspicion, even maybe hostility, towards the outwardly humble - yet wildly legendary - figure of Metatron.

Sam had to dismiss Dean's attitude though. It could very easily just be run-off from what happened before when they'd arrived and triggered Sam's blackout.

Sam made a mental note to ask them about what that'd been... and why it wasn't happening now. After Dean had dropped the third trial on him Sam had refrained from asking for many more details. He'd needed time to process... or maybe just live in denial for awhile. Dean had helped - allowed it - knowing this meeting was their deadline to reenter reality.

"Sam," Castiel spoke, startling him. Sam turned around, breaking his admittedly rude stare at Metatron as the man walked towards the fireplace, and found Castiel crouching directly in front of him looking up with wide, concerned, piercing blue eyes. Unnerved by the angel's proximity, Sam coughed and adjusted himself to sit up straighter and farther away from the angel's unique intensity.

"Hey Cas," he rasped.

"How are you?" Cas asked sincerely, softening Sam's resolve to play it cool. Sam blinked a couple times, struck, but then nodded.

"Hanging in there, you know," Sam whispered, swallowing the small lump in his throat that'd unexpectedly developed from the simple question. Sam hadn't realized how unaccustomed he was to hearing anyone other than Dean show such a vested interest in his welfare.

"Um," he coughed, slightly frustrated with himself. Cas tilted his head, deep compassion on every feature and Sam felt the sudden urge to push him away. "Really I'm fine, thanks Cas," Sam said, firmer this time.

Sam saw something click in Cas's mind. The angel pursed his lips, gave an imperceptible nod, and backed up. Sam sighed quietly with relief and looked around the room. Of course, Dean's arms were folded, standing by the fireplace openly glaring at the two angels. Kevin moved to sit back down next to Sam and Sam found himself oddly comforted by it. Especially when he realized that all eyes were on him.

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled as he rubbed his thighs, getting ready.

"Okay. So," he licked his lips, "what's the plan?" It was as good a place to start as any.

"We set out for Shelter Bay, Washington as soon as possible," Cas replied immediately.

"What's in Shelter Bay?"

"A church," Metatron answered. His first words spoken directly to Sam. Sam shifted his gaze at the angel and remained silent, just staring at him. Not that this guy had done much to offend him yet but there was obviously no accounting for manners. Dean smirked for a second, unable to hide his pleasure seeing the angel grow uncomfortable under his little brother's scrutiny. Finally Metatron realized the faux pas and pulled his hands out of his dirty, rumpled jacket to step forward, his hand out for a shake even though somehow it came off as a groveling, sales-like gesture.

"Metatron," he said, smiling as crookedly as his teeth, "at your service."

Sam had thought he'd be fine taking the man's hand until the angel got within a foot of him. The low thrumming sound that'd begun at the angels' arrival catapulted several notches higher in volume and Sam jerked back in pain, pulling his hand away to cradle his head under the onslaught of sound.

"Sammy!" Dean called just as Metatron backed up.

"Sorry sorry whoa. Ho - okay," Metatron practically cackled, "That's my fault," he acknowledged, putting his hands out defensively and even daring to chuckle, "my bad."

With Metatron stepping away the sound diminished, receding to its previously tolerable low hum. Sam looked up at the angel, his expression a perfect mix of confused annoyance.

"You're resonating, Sam," Metatron explained, like it solved all their problems. Sam raised an eyebrow, an irritated silent prompt that he needed a little more to go on than that. Metatron shifted into a more straightened posture, ready - and seeming much too pleased - to take the floor. "You get far enough along with the trials, you start resonating with the Word. Or with its source on the material plane -  _me_ ," he explained, gesturing to himself with exaggerated grandeur, a satisfied grin, and flushing with such self-importance that it altered Sam's impression of the man.

An inferior with a superiority complex.

One glance at Dean and Cas confirmed his appraisal as they both stared at Metatron with barely concealed disdain. Oblivious, Metatron kept going.

"You see, when we first arrived this morning, I was a full-fledged angel-"

"-but you're not now...?" Sam asked.

"No," Metatron answered impatiently. It was clear he didn't like being interrupted. "No. No we bottle-and-capped my grace - or as much of it as we could - so you could handle being in my presence," he said as he pulled a vial of glowing blue light out of the inside pocket of his jacket. "Of course, normally it'd just sound like a loud ringing in your ears but since you've been...  _dangling_ like a fish on a hook to get to the third trial... it's causing damage that frankly you can't afford right now if you want even the  _ghost_ of a chance to complete the third trial," Metatron chuckled callously.

Sam stared at Metatron as the angel looked around him and immediately dropped any semblance of mirth to resume his stilted posture. Sam looked to the others and found them all, even Castiel, plainly taken aback.

 _Wow_ , Dean mouthed, his disbelief at the angel's insensitivity for the first time outweighing his truculent attitude.

"He... doesn't get out much," Cas put forth, apologetic. Exhausted, Sam rubbed his forehead and snickered quietly at the surprisingly comical excuse, shaking his head, as Cas went on. "The fact remains that the third trial requires this location. The four of you-"

Dean straightened, alert and clearly alarmed.

"-must begin your journey as soon as possible. Sam-"

"-Wait. The  _four_  of us?" Dean interrupted, furious.

"Yes, Dean. Sam, the time between completing the second and third trial was never meant to be this long. You are significantly compromised-"

"Dean told me. It's my only shot to survive anyway though, right?"

"Yes-"

"Hold up. The  _four_  of us-?!"

"Yes. Dean. I cannot take Metatron with me in order to procure the items needed for the third trial when the time comes."

"Why the hell not?" Dean demanded, flustered. Sam noticed Metatron puff his chest out with indignation.

"Because-"

"I can help," Metatron interrupted. It sounded like a whine even though Sam was pretty sure the angel thought it quite the grand declaration. Dean and Cas angled their stance to give Metatron his say. "I... I can't heal anything with the trials but... but I still have some grace. I can help."

Cas nodded to Metatron and turned back to Dean.

"It's true."

"Really? What can you do to help  _exactly_  then?" Dean challenged, still looking at Metatron with something bordering on disgust. Sam was pretty sure his brother just flat-out disliked the guy. He wasn't too far behind his brother on that train either honestly.

"He can ease Sam's pain, Dean-" Cas began but couldn't finish as Dean interrupted with a clipped shout of outrage before he could even remember to use his words.

"If you think I'm letting you even  _touch_  my brother-"

"Stop it. Dean." Cas's heavy voice boomed out, silencing him. Dean's fury remained burning in his eyes but he allowed Cas to continue. "It is  _because_  of Metatron that we know what the third trial is. That we still have a chance. He has risked exposure to the forces of both heaven and hell to help us and  _he_   _needs_   _sanctuary_ ," Castiel explained viciously.

"So he stays in the bunker!"

"No. We need him there."

" _Why_?"

Cas pursed his lips, the verbal spar noticeably over, his eyes now expressing a helplessness that both Dean and Sam could see but which neither could understand.

It was actually Kevin, who'd remained silent and observant throughout the entire exchange, that glanced to Metatron in time to catch the slow, wide smile spread across the angel's lips.

"Because I'm not going to reveal the final requirement of the trial unless you bring me with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time!
> 
> PS to reiterate to everyone, this is not a death!fic I promise!


	37. Metatron's Motivations

_Cas pursed his lips, the verbal spar noticeably over, his eyes now expressing a helplessness that both Dean and Sam could see but which neither understood._

_It was actually Kevin, who'd remained silent and observant the entire time, that glanced to Metatron in time to catch the slow, wide smile spread across the angel's lips._

_"Because I'm not going to reveal the final requirement of the trial unless you bring me with you."_

* * *

The room was silent after Metatron's announcement, everyone stunned at the brazen ultimatum.

Sam shifted quietly and brought his hand up to rub his lips in thought.

"I think I've found the fatal flaw in this plan," he dead-panned.

"No way," Dean intoned, uncrossing his arms."Plan's off. We're not doing this."

"Fine," Metatron grinned, "then Sam dies," he shrugged.

"You son of a-"

"-Why do you want to be with us, Metatron?" Sam interrupted, effectively cutting Dean's tirade. A quick study, he was no longer disturbed by the angel's apathy.

Dean stood down, allowing it, murder still in his eyes. He watched the angel heave a sigh, open his arms in appeal to them all, and wearily move over to sit in the armchair next to Sam's end of the couch.

The angel fixed his gaze on Sam with something that looked like an attempt at compassion. Sam was too perceptive; the angel's expression and movements were deliberate. Sam prepared himself to hear a bad high school monologue.

"I've been in hiding for ages. In that time, I read," Metatron paused for effect. Sam blinked.

"You read?" He asked dumbly, coming up short.

"- _stories_. I read...stories," Metratron said, his face lightening with wonder, his smile widening enough to reveal nearly every crooked tooth. Sam swallowed sickly.

"Okay..." he trailed off. Metatron stared at Sam, eyes glittering like he was waiting for Sam to get it. After a few seconds, it was clear Sam wasn't going to get anything.

Metatron's expression - the dazzled, engaged wonder of his explanation - quickly gave way to bitter, disdainful frustration. He slapped his knees and stood back up with a huff. Dean, still regarding the angel as an enemy in their midst, shifted his stance into readiness.

Oblivious, Metatron stalked over to the fireplace and started pacing. Dean moved carefully over next to Sam, placing himself between the angel and his brother. His patience was thinning; Metatron's proximity to Sam just now had nearly given him a heart attack as it was.

"You humans don't understand. You create - become Gods yourselves - when you tell stories. Don't you get it?!"

Sam's headache was coming back. Through squinted eyes he landed his observations on Castiel. The normally implacable angel had straightened and lifted his chin, monitoring Metatron with a level of authority Sam thought wouldn't be applied to an angel given the station of God's very own scribe.

Still, as Metatron spoke and paced, it was clear Cas regarded him as inferior. A shut-in that had spent a little too much time reading fiction and not enough time experiencing nonfiction.

Sam didn't realize how on point that assessment was until Metatron had stopped grumbling to himself about ignorant humans, stomped to a halt in the very front of the fireplace, and faced them all.

"I want to be  _part of the_   _story_ , don't you see?!" He cried. "I've been in hiding for so long,  _longing_  for the chance to be  _my own character_  in a story. And in truth, what better story could I be a part of right now?"

"Hold on-" Sam started, baffled, trying to wrap his mind around the concept.

"-This is a god damned  _story_  to you?" Dean interjected, his voice low and threatening.

"Yeah! Yes. Are you  _kidding_?" Metatron whined outrageously, then gestured to Sam just as Sam covered his eyes and rubbed his temples, his headache getting worse.

"Sam! You are  _the hero_! You are Gilgamesh, Hercules, Odysseus, the  _greats_! On a quest! For something  _so noble_. Don't you understand? I want  _in_!"

"Jesus Christ..." Dean washed a hand down his face and glanced at Sam.

"Him too!" Metatron pointed excitedly at Dean, a distinctly professorial gesture, but Dean ignored it in favor of getting up to check on his brother after having noticed Sam's pained posture. Sam was hunched over, covering his forehead, eyes closed but facing the floor. Oblivious, Metatron rambled on, unaware and running himself into fanatical fervor, his words jostling together into rapid-fire enthusiasm.

"Honestly I've been waiting and this is my chance. I want to go on this hero's quest - a quest which God himself described to me. Oh I knew I could never be the hero - that was reserved for _humans,_ " Metatron spat, rolling his eyes.

Dean whispered something to Sam, placing a light hand on the back of his little brother's head. Kevin shuffled closer too, watching solicitously, his palm bracing the small of Sam's back as a sign of silent support.

"-But even so, it was always one of my favorites," Metatron continued, completely unaware. "Even back in the day transcribing it I knew I wanted to bear witness. I just  _knew_ -"

"-Sam are you all right?" Castiel suddenly spoke up from where he'd been standing next to the fireplace, obviously irritated by Metatron's incessant babbling. At the abrupt cut-off, Metatron shot Castiel a glare but soon followed the angel's line of sight to what was going on.

Dean was brushing Sam's hair back.

"What's wrong?" Metatron's voice grated as the angel took a couple steps to lean and hover over them.

"Metatron, please step back," Castiel demanded bitingly. Metatron turned to look at Castiel.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm fine," Sam coughed as Dean reached over to grab the pillow Kevin was holding out to him. "Really," he added as Dean put the cushion on the arm of the couch and angled Sam to lean against it.

"Metatron, if you would," Castiel gritted out.

"If I would  _what_ , Castiel?" Metatron sniped back, straightening indignantly to face him.

"Kev, go get the bucket and some Tylenol, will you?" Dean asked openly, no longer even vaguely interested in the angels' conversation now. Kevin nodded and disentangled himself from the blankets on the couch to go grab the items.

"Tylenol won't help anything," Metatron snorted.

" _Metatron_ ," Castiel nearly yelled.

Sam gritted his teeth, blinked and fixed his gaze on his brother. Dean leaned forward, knowing Sam only wanted to be heard by him.

"Get rid of him, will you? Just for now," he whispered tiredly.

"Yeah," Dean murmured, pushing Sam's bangs back one more time before turning around and standing up to face the angel.

"Metatron, you want to be part of the story? Clear out. We need time to consider," Dean said, his voice brooking no argument.

Metatron, unaware or perhaps just obstinate and ignorant enough to believe Dean was of no threat, ignored the man's tonal cues and bypassed the older brother's implicit authority.

"You don't  _have time_  to consider, Dean Winchester," Metatron pressed, "I am giving you the opportunity-"

" _Metatron_ ," Sam interrupted angrily, his voice gravelly but surprisingly strong. His head was tilted on the pillow, his unblinking gaze fixed on the angel. "If you've read the stories - the classics - you understand betrayal, do you not?"

Metatron licked his lips and took on a uniquely petulant bearing.

"Yes but-"

"Then you realize that if you do betray us, I will die anyway," Sam stated firmly.

"I won't betray you!" Metatron cried, practically stomping his foot.

"Leave us," Castiel said quietly, "and we will consider your offer, Metatron."

Metatron took a second, fury building as he looked at each of their distrustful expressions. He stared at Dean, practically covering his little brother from view.

In the middle of the stand-off, Kevin entered back into the study with the bucket and Tylenol. Metatron's beady eyes tracked the boy's body language which practically screamed wary caution as he shot a fearful, furtive glance towards him before settling down next to Sam without a word.

"Thanks Kev," Dean murmured, still looking at the angel expectantly. It was time for Metatron to go.

Metatron frowned, every inch of him practically radiating indignant anger that he wasn't receiving the automatic trust and gratitude he obviously thought he was due. Everyone had quieted and stilled, waiting on him to leave.

" _Fine_ ," he finally spat, disgusted. He vanished on his own finger snap, vaguely reminding Dean of Gabriel, yet another douche bag angel... but one that still pulled through for them in the end.

The fire crackled in the angel's wake. Kevin coughed. Castiel's posture relaxed and Dean swore.

Sam let out a sigh of relief and rubbed his eyes.

"He's a fucking psychopath," Dean ruled as he turned to Kevin and reached for the bucket to place on the floor near Sam. He pulled the coffee table closer to the edge of the couch and sat down.

"Sociopath," Sam corrected wearily, turning on his side to face Dean.

"Agreed," Castiel replied. He stepped forward to close the tight circle around Sam. Kevin handed Sam the Tylenol at the same time Dean handed him a water bottle. Sam took a swig and popped the pills with no problem. Still, his stomach seemed to revolt at their intrusion.

"Kevin... what's your... verdict?" Sam struggled to ask between reflexive swallows.

"Um..." Kevin stalled, watching worriedly as Dean pulled forward, grasped Sam under the arms and hefted him a few inches forward over the edge of the couch to face the bucket he'd placed there.

"I'm all right, 'm all right I think..." Sam said before spitting into the bucket. No blood; just regular saliva. No water or pills either.

"Should we be having this conversation right now?" Castiel asked, concerned.

"It's only going to get worse," Sam rasped, lifting up with his brother's help. "Sorry."

"No need," Castiel said evenly. "Illness and death typify human suffering."

Sam gave a wan smile with a vague thumbs-up.

"Great, thanks Cas," Dean commented sarcastically, putting the right words to Sam's actions. Silence reigned over them as Sam regained steady breaths.

"I think we should go for it," Sam said finally, looking at Dean, knowing his big brother would be the hardest to convince to sign off on this plan.

Castiel nodded.

"There is no reason not to."

"What? What about the betrayal thing? Sam you said it yourself!" Dean argued. Sam shook his head.

"If we do nothing, I die-"

"-We don't know that, Sam-"

"-Dean," Sam interrupted softly, his wide, red eyes seeking Dean's, "we  _do_... know that."

Dean grimaced, his emotions getting the better of him as he looked at his withering brother.

"We don't," Dean rebutted, unwilling to let his hope go, "If Metatron is betraying us, it'd make perfect sense to manipulate us like this. Promise us that you'll die if we don't take his word."

"Metatron has almost guaranteed Sam's death anyway, Dean," Castiel said, his voice low and careful. Sam's eyes broke away from his brother's to look at Castiel.

Castiel was easier to look at right now, Sam realized. The angel's distinguished bearing and objective expression afforded Sam an emotional breather - a moment to assess the costs and benefits of Metatron's offer rationally without seeing abject fear in his eyes like he would Dean.

"Metatron has no obvious reason to betray us. His reason to  _join_  us - to be... part of the story," Sam repeated the angel's words with a bitter edge of repulsion, "is too... pathetic to be false."

"I found Metatron on a federal Native American reservation. His home held no furniture; just literature stacked to the ceilings and a single armchair. It seems as though he is telling the truth about his background," Cas provided.

"Yeah but," Kevin started tentatively and all heads turned to face him. Kevin recoiled slightly but pressed on, "I mean... if he's a sociopath like Sam said, what if betraying us makes for a better story in his mind? He doesn't know the difference between right or wrong; he just wants a great story, right?"

Sam gave a small smile in Kevin's direction.

"He won't betray us if that's what he's after," Sam said with certainty.

"How do you know?" Cas asked.

Sam looked around the room, acknowledging that he may be the only person present that ever had the opportunity or interest in reading much classic literature.

"Because betrayal cuts the story short," Sam answered simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	38. The Voicemail Part I

Sam's fever was up, rendering him pretty useless. He was zoning in and out; Dean answering his questions with simple words so he'd understand but otherwise remaining silent to let him rest. At the moment Sam was just staring at the blanket he had clutched to his chest, the only source of warmth Dean was letting him have as he wiped Sam with a cool wet wash cloth after stripping him down to his t-shirt and boxers.

The blanket was more a lightweight comforter, really. Soft light blue on one side, colorful patchwork patterns on the other. It reminded Sam of the blanket he used to have as a kid. He and Dean had been taught earlier than most children to drop toys and stuffed animals as juvenile comforts. Dad had never said anything about outgrowing an attachment to blankets though.

Dean had warmed to Dad's jacket which made sense: Dean loved Dad; Dad made him feel safe and protected and so the jacket he always wore was like an extension of that to his older brother. The more cynical side of Sam knew that the jacket was a fail-safe.  _John_  was attached to the jacket; if he thought Dean had developed a childlike fixation on it, John would still be hard-pressed to get rid of it on those grounds. Can't throw away childish things if those things really aren't childish.

Sam was pretty sure John would've thrown his favorite blanket away if Dean hadn't covered for him though. Dad was largely indifferent to the motel covers they'd take with them over the years. As long as they kept his boys warm during cold winter nights on the road, Dad was fine with anything they chose.

It was during the summer months that Dean really went to bat for Sam and his blanket, appealing to the true survivalist in the patriarch that saving at least one warm comforter was a necessity if John's hunts took them to, say, the desert - where temperatures could fall to forty degrees or lower at night even in the summer - or higher altitudes - the Rockies or Appalachians.

Sam idly wondered how Dean knew about those things. Dean had been really young when he'd made those arguments. It wouldn't have surprised Sam if Dean, anticipating their father's decision to ditch his favorite blanket, had asked a teacher:  _Does it get cold anywhere - like you need to use a blanket - in the United States even if it's summer_?

That sounded like something Dean would do.

Dean never told Dad Sam loved that blanket. It'd give too much away. Dean knew though. Whenever Sam was sick or sad, leaving behind a school, his friends, his surroundings which he'd only  _just_ become familiar with, Dean would pull the blanket out of the trunk, claim Sam looked cold, and spread it over them in the back seat.

Dean kept that blanket long after Sam even had a need for it. Growing up the way they did, it was difficult to ignore how blankets didn't deliver half as much security as weapons or the knowledge of "what's out there in the dark." Grew up Sam did, quickly, with his father drilling no-nonsense skills, tactics and information that'd protect them all and with his brother secretly allowing him whatever vestiges of false comfort he could still glean from Sam's favorite blanket or toy or book...

When Dad finally ruled Sam's blanket was no longer useful in any sense of the word - it'd been riddled down to tatters, stained, and molted fluff with so many holes it'd accumulated over the years - Dean didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to keeping it.

...And Dean had  _wanted_  to keep it.

Sam remembered being confused by Dean's reaction. He'd looked so helpless, almost lost, watching from the passenger seat as Dad had walked up to them after finding it in the back of the trunk. Dad casually mentioned it was gross - basically "a huge rag now" he'd said with a slight grin - and walked over to drop the thing in a dumpster in the parking lot of their motel before they simply drove away for another hunt.

Later Sam had quietly promised Dean that it was fine - he didn't need the blanket anymore anyway and Dad  _did_  have a point that it'd gotten kinda nasty over the years.

Unfortunately, somehow that wasn't what Dean had wanted to hear. With every reason Sam gave him about why it wasn't a big deal he got the impression that he was just digging his own grave; Dean just kept looking sadder and sadder. Eventually he'd snapped at Sam to drop it and Sam, bewildered and frustrated that he hadn't succeeded in making Dean feel better, did.

Sam was remembering these things. Little things from such a long time ago.

He remembered now loving the blanket for what it was. He'd stare at it... stare at the patchwork patterns, imagining that each patch was its own universe and went on for infinity in that pattern... Sam was just lucky enough to catch a glimpse of them all because he had the blanket that wove all those little universes together. Just for him. No one else understood.

Well maybe Dean could.

"Dean," Sam breathed, fingering the comforter, playing with the rifts and folds of each universe, nostalgia creeping up on him. "They're universes," Sam said distractedly, feeling a washcloth brush down his leg, the water sliding down his skin and onto the mattress.

"Sam, what?" Dean asked, a hint of humoring his delirious brother in his tone.

"The... patch-es... They're uni...verses," Sam informed, realizing his teeth were chattering. "'M cold," he added.

"Yeah but you're running a fever still," Dean murmured as he moved up and pressed his hand against Sam's forehead. He wiped Sam's bangs away as he pulled back.

"When're we leaving?"

"Few hours. Kevin's packing up," Dean said lightly, looking down at Sam like they had all the time in the world.

"Where's Metatron?"

Dean gave a sly smile.

"Outside. Waiting."

"Really?"

"I got- Cas is making sure he stays put," Dean grinned.

Sam returned the smile with a small huff and let his eyes drift around the room. He was going to miss Dean's room... He didn't want to leave, really. The thought of it seemed to catch his heart in a vise, each and every thing that could go wrong - especially knowing their luck - running through his head.

And it wasn't just that. It was some bizarre fear of  _outside_  that he'd never really known before - of surroundings that he just wouldn't be able to control, weren't guaranteed safe or predictable or... easy. Even approaching faceless waitresses at diners seemed daunting, knowing he looked the way he did; knowing anyone setting their eyes on him were likely to attach him to the stigma of... whatever assumptions they were going to make. Inevitably something that made him  _Other_ , at any rate. Something that made "normal" people nervous, skittish or scared. Sam didn't want that. He so desperately didn't want that.

Dean would be his buffer. And Sam knew he wouldn't be able to find anyone else in the world better than his big brother to be that for him... but the anxiety still gnawed. The level of  _difficulty_  - of stress - it'd put on both of them was winding its way through Sam's nerves, twisting into something that he knew could easily keep spiraling if he didn't calm down.  _Relax, Sam_ , he thought to himself, turning back to the comforter,  _look at the patterns on the blanket, think of the universes_.

Something about Sam's reverie - his fear and anxiety over the next few days - the "adventure" which would start in only the next few hours - must've seeped its way into Sam's face or body language... and Dean must've read his mind of the very last thoughts he'd just had because he leaned forward, pulled an edge of the blanket out of Sam's arms to better cover his chest and said, "Little universes, huh?"

Sam smiled blandly, turning to look down at the patches.

"Looks like the one you had as a kid," Dean murmured, his voice soft and kind.

"Yeah," Sam replied dully.

"What's this patch?" Dean asked, pointing to a perfect robin's egg blue, "the Smurf universe?" He joked quietly and Sam snickered.

"No it's the  _Cerulean_  Universe," Sam retorted, loopy. Dean snorted and pushed the cover further up to Sam's chin.

"Man, even delirious with fever you pull out million dollar words like Cerulean-"

"- _Cerulean_ ," Sam repeated, liking the sound of the word, grinning.

"You freak," Dean said affectionately, shaking his head but smiling. He disappeared from Sam's view as the little brother mulled over Dean's words.

He was starting to feel better - a little more lucid. Dean came back and placed a damp washcloth over his forehead which woke him up even more and allowed him to think clearly about their meeting with Metatron. He managed to link Dean's last words just now to Metatron's depiction of him and he realized he'd been thinking about this before. After their meeting but before his fever had hit a peak, he'd been ruminating over this and he'd wanted to run it past Dean. So... now was his chance.

"Dean?"

"Mm?"

"What Metatron said... D'you think I'm a hero?"

"No," Dean answered, not missing a beat, "I know you are."

Dean liked his answer; he thought Sam would too.

Instead his little brother's expression shifted to confusion, something not adding up.

"What?" Dean asked gently. Sam swallowed thickly, his eyes roaming the bedroom in thought before they settled, looking up at his brother.

"You used to read to me..."

Dean snorted and gave Sam a disbelieving - yet still somehow fond - smile.

"You want me to  _read_  to you?"

Sam's faced screwed up with annoyance.

"Shut up, no. Knights of the Round Table... from, uh... that old Classics Illustrated comic book..."

"Uh huh," Dean murmured, wondering where this was going. He pulled the wet washcloth off Sam's forehead, dunk it into the bucket of water and strung it out while Sam continued.

"Had all of King Arthur's knights and they were all on the quest for the holy grail," Sam explained. He took a second to look at Dean to make sure his brother was following. Dean nodded and placed the wash cloth back over Sam's forehead. Sam swallowed nervously. "I, um... I remember looking at this picture of Sir Galahad. He was kneeling and... light was... streaming over his face," Sam continued, pulling his hands out from under the covers to gesture this inspiring image from his memory. He let the silence stand, thinking about his next words, and his hands sunk slowly back to the bedspread, his posture visibly sinking with them. His eyes were red and watery from the fever but Dean could see there was an emotional attribute to them now too. "Dean, I remember thinking... I could never go on a quest like that."

Dean leaned back, surprised. Even maybe annoyed.

"What? Why?"

Sam gave a tight wince, disliking the sharp sound of his brother's voice. He was running the risk that Dean just wouldn't understand; would dismiss this without helping Sam come to terms or rewrite his concept. Sam took a deep breath and pursed his lips, bracing himself for that possibility. He was going to tell Dean the truth though - he had enough courage to do it... and enough hope that Dean wouldn't shut him down; that his big brother would hear him out.

"Because I'm not... clean," Sam whispered, then looked up to Dean, unconsciously giving his brother the full effect of what Dean had always termed his "puppy dog look."

Dean softened.

"Sam-" he started, his voice calm and sympathetic. Just the sound of it made Sam want to just break down then and there... but he knew he couldn't... not if he wanted anything solved here.

"-Deep down, I think..." Sam interrupted his brother. He needed to get this all out before Dean could respond.

Sam swallowed and a single tear broke free and ran down his cheek. He knew Dean saw it so he kept his composure by looking away. He just couldn't acknowledge anyone's empathy yet. Not yet. He had to keep going.

"I think I knew. Even when I was just a kid. I knew I had demon blood in me. The... evil of it... inside of me. I knew, Dean. Even then I think I knew that I'm... I wasn't pure."

"Sammy," Dean whispered heavily and Sam sensed his brother come closer, his hips landing just below Sam's shoulder. With Dean so near Sam couldn't ignore his presence anymore; he gazed up at the same time Dean reached out to brush a hand through his hair, "you're worthy, little brother."

Sam's lips quivered, his heart jumping, his own inner monologue a running stream of admonishments against breaking down. Dean just kept carding his hand through Sam's hair and Sam tried to focus on that for a second before he could pull himself together to say more.

"It doesn't matter," Sam sniffed, "Because these trials... they're purifying me."

Dean's hand stopped where it was at that and Sam blinked up at him. Dean's expression shifted to objective scrutiny. He gave one more stroke against Sam's hair, his hand's gentle exit, before pulling back and tilting his head.

"You think you're throwing up demon blood?" He asked, his voice still quiet but harder than it was before.

Sam shrugged miserably.

"Yeah," he coughed, "don't think it's gonna work though."

"Why?" Dean retorted, his tone harsher still. Sam didn't answer immediately. "You defeated the  _devil,_  Sam."

Sam gave a small shake of his head and rubbed his nose, trying to get out of the emotions and into the debate to match Dean.

"That was different..." he rasped, sniffing and blinking back the last of his tears.

"-How?!" Dean shot back challengingly, now outright annoyed.

"-Because I was  _made_  for Lucifer," Sam replied honestly. Dean's face morphed to disgusted rejection of Sam's words.

"You weren't  _made_  for anythin-"

"I can  _deal_  with demons because I have their blood; I can  _deal_  with the devil because I was born his vessel-" Sam explained, his voice level and rational - which only seemed to rattle Dean more.

"-None of that was your fault, Sam!"

"No but it was my  _fate_ , Dean!" Sam shouted back, now somehow pissed because Dean was pissed. Somewhere in the back of Sam's mind he wondered how they did that to each other. Something about unconscious mimicking; a need to meet and join the other in their temperament. It wasn't difficult; if one of them was pissed they had no problem pushing the other's buttons as an invite. On the heels of that thought, Dean practically stomped on one of Sam's.

" _So what_?!" Dean yelled, repeating the childish phrase that would always have Sam climbing the walls with frustration while they were kids. Sam would be arguing a point - Dean wouldn't like where Sam was headed with it - and then his big brother would snap  _So what?_  Dean always made it sound like Sam was pulling points out of thin air, turning and twisting them into unnecessary and biased theories, opinions and conclusions. But they weren't then and they weren't now.

"Listen to me," Sam gritted out, "If Metatron is right, the  _grace of God_  has to channel itself... through  _me, Dean._ "

"Yeah. And?" Dean shot back. Sam rolled his eyes, impatient. He spread his hands out at Dean, pissed but still hoping that Dean would understand.

"Dean! Come on! Of all the people in the entire  _world_... I would be the  _last_  person  _anyone_  would expect to survive God's grace," Sam said, exasperated and hopeless.

Dean pursed his lips and stared at his brother, his eyes telegraphing a strange mix of emotions - Sam couldn't get them all but he saw the main ones: deep concern, like Sam had said something that was making Dean question his little brother's sanity. That element was both comforting and unnerving to Sam; that Dean believed in him so much that he thought Sam might really be going off the deep end if he didn't share the same faith in himself. The second one though - fear... pure, near-panic fear, was worse to see in his big brother's eyes. Sam didn't know what exactly it was that he'd said that'd cause Dean to look like that but... he suddenly wanted to take it all back.

He couldn't though. He refused to take it back because... Sam was scared too.

Dean cleared his throat and when he looked back up at Sam, his eyes were wet and when he spoke his voice was gravelly.

"You're wrong."

"Okay," Sam backed down. This wasn't meant to be confrontational when he'd started out and if he just continued to freak Dean out his brother would shut him down entirely. Using a better, more reasonable tone of voice, Sam proceeded. "But... This quest - it's an elective. There's nothing in who I am or even who I was supposed to be that gives us an edge here. It gives us nothing but disadvantages across the entire board," Sam explained calmly, carefully so as not to strike into Dean's temper again. "That's... all I was trying to say," he whispered.

"Sam," Dean started, a pained look on his face, "haven't you realized that all we've  _ever_  been dealt are disadvantages? That this is no different from all the other shit times the odds have been stacked against us?"

Sam had started shaking his head before Dean had finished and cut in immediately when Dean was done.

"We've always dealt with evil. This is different, Dean. This is God. And I've..." Sam tried to swallow the lump in his throat, "I've done things..."

Dean flared at that.

"You saved the  _world_ , Sam!" Dean nearly yelled and Sam, ever able to follow his brother, let out a huff of disbelief.

"I started  _the apocalypse_. I was Lucifer's  _vessel_. I murdered  _innocent people_  in the wake of all that and-"

" _You're not a monster, Sam_!"

" _Yes I am_!" Sam shouted back, his voice cracking halfway through, a mix of anger and frustration and defeat breaking his resolve to sound strong or steady. He had to calm down, had to level out if the slapped look on Dean's face was any indication but he couldn't hold back now: "Yes I am! And you  _knew_  it. Deep down you'll  _always..._   _know_  it. That night - St. Mary's Convent - my fate  _and my choices_  combined to make me a monster. There was - and still is - no redemption for me on that... or any of the other things I've done. You  _said,_  that night, there was no going back from the monster I'd become and  _you were_   _right_. Your words still stand. They'll always stand."

Sam was breathing hard. At some point he'd sat up against the headboard, throwing the blanket aside to focus solely on his tirade. Now though he was noticing the confusion in Dean's expression, something that'd developed beyond the initial shock of Sam's speech.

"When... did I say that, Sammy?" Dean asked, his tone devoid of angst or anger. Just pure - and oddly worried - curiosity.

"That I was a monster? Right before I-"

"No. The other thing," Dean replied distractedly, obviously wracking his brain for the memory.

Dean recalled a parking lot, telling Sam that he didn't think they could ever be what they were to each other like before. Sam had lost his trust, yeah, but if he'd ever said there was no going back from becoming a monster-

-No.

Dean hadn't said that. No way.

Dean had said it  _once_ to Sam... after Sam had provoked him to say it... then punched his lights out.

That conversation hadn't continued. It had gone no further than that. Dean was positive.

Dean snapped back to look at his brother, wondering if Sam was putting words in his mouth deliberately.

Sam bit his lip and looked down at the bed, guilt and self-loathing radiating off him as he thought about the events that'd led up to St. Mary's Convent.

Sam shrugged, trying to minimize any obvious tell of how much it'd hurt him.

"The voice mail, Dean," he said simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	39. The Voicemail Part II

_"Hey, it's me. Uh...Look, I'll just get right to it. I'm still pissed... and I owe you a serious beatdown. But... I shouldn't have said what I said. You know, I'm not Dad. We're brothers. You know, we're family. And, uh... no matter how bad it gets, that doesn't change. Sammy, I'm sorry."_

_"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam - a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."_

* * *

_Sam bit his lip and looked down at the bed, guilt and self-loathing radiating off him as he thought about the events that'd led up to St. Mary's Convent._

_Sam shrugged, trying to minimize any obvious tell of how much it'd hurt him._

_"The voice mail, Dean," he said simply._

* * *

Dean paused and squinted his eyes.

"The... voicemail..." Dean trailed off, "...where I took it back? Where I said we were still family?"

"What?" Sam practically snarled. "You called me a  _monster_ ," Sam said, "...a freak - a... a bloodsucking  _vampire_ ," he stuttered. He looked haggard, on the cusp of a physical breakdown much less an emotional one. "You... you said... Dad said you either had to kill me or save me and you were done trying to save me. You were giving me 'fair warning,'" Sam air-quoted with attitude but it was a pathetic attempt, his weakened body only allowing for shaky, uncoordinated hands, "-and that you were done trying to save me..."

Dean was looking at his brother, disbelief and sympathy playing across his face in equal measure, shaking his head no, like that wasn't what he'd said... and it was infuriating Sam.

"You said I wasn't  _me_  anymore! There wasn't  _any going back_!" Sam screamed.

"Sam... no..." Dean reached out but Sam slapped his hand away.

"Fuck you! Yes you did! You  _said that_!" Sam cried, tears finally breaking free as his anger and grief mingled, reliving the memory. "The next time I was going to see you," Sam's voice cracked; he could just barely sob out the end of his sentence, "you were going to kill me."

"Sam, I apologized," Dean corrected, coming closer, his hands out, and taking the responding rain of pushes, slaps and shoves Sam tried to make hurt. "I never said any of that-"

"-You  _hated_  me!" Sam gasped, hitting Dean right in the solar plexis when he was coming too close, tears streaming down his cheeks, "it was too... too late..." Sam choked out, still doing his best to fight Dean off. "I was  _evil_! I'll  _always_  be that and... and I never knew why you didn't just kill me after because  _you knew it too_!"

" _Stop_ ," Dean cut through, getting sick of this - seeing Sam like this. Dean had been holding back before - a mixture of shock and horror at what Sam was saying rendering him stunned - but now he was just done. He gripped one of Sam's wrists - the one pushing against his shoulder - and pulled it up into a full extension.

"Dean,  _no_!" Sam shrieked, a knee-jerk shrill sound that came off so scared Dean almost let go.

But Dean held on, determined. The kid's automatic response after all their training should have been a punch to Dean's chest or face and Dean was ready to catch his hand on its way there. Instead Sam just reached up with his other hand to... do what? Attack Dean's arm?

Dean cringed inwardly in sympathy, realizing how off his game Sam was when Sam started clawing at his arm and shoulder. Dean was taking serious physical advantage of his little brother who'd been suffering, weakened, even just - put bluntly, mentally compromised for far too long - to make this even remotely equal. Still, he was only going for restraint. Sam was looking worse, his face and neck flushed, his body trembling with fury and fever... freaking himself out over something that had never happened...

Dean grabbed Sam's other hand - Sam was obviously only struggling to get Dean to let him go, not fight back - and pulled both the kid's arms down and to the side in a flash, forcing Sam's torso to twist onto the pillows propped along the headboard. Sam landed face down on one of the pillows with a muffled grunt of pain. Before he could recover, Dean had pinned the kid's hands where they were with one palm, pressed his hand along the back of Sam's head and tilted it sideways so the kid could breathe while climbing up and settling a knee behind his brother's back on the bed. He placed it just below Sam's armpits, a position high enough along Sam's body that the kid's kicks or knees couldn't pose a threat.

Barely a second had passed under the onslaught of Dean's attack. Dean hadn't even really broke a sweat but Sam was huffing and wheezing, his hair wet and sticking to his red, strained face... At first Dean thought the kid was prepping to go a round with him because he'd gone limp, his eyes closed. Maybe gathering reserves, pulling himself together to let his rage and frustrations out physically. Kid would tire himself out under Dean's restraint.

Dean would've been okay with that.

He would've rathered it compared to what did happen.

After a heavy, almost self-calming, exhale, Sam's face twisted into unbearable anguish, curled his body as much as Dean's hold on him would allow, as a wave of convulsive sobs and gasps shook and rattled through way through his little brother's body.

Dean couldn't find a word for the sound - the feeling of his brother falling apart. It was at once the most angering and terrifying sound Dean had ever heard.

Sam wasn't fighting anything now. He remained limp under Dean, only moving so far as to get as comfortable as possible under Dean's hold, rolling into himself. He tried to fold his knees up, hit Dean's foot, and let it just stay there.

Dean found himself letting Sam pull his arms down to settle his hands against his chest. He let Sam's head tilt back into the pillow to muffle his cries.

Still not knowing entirely what to do with this situation, Dean lifted up and dragged the patchwork Universe blanket over, nudging it against Sam's chest. Sam - maybe consciously, maybe unconsciously - latched onto it and gripped the thing tightly against him, reaching for more when he realized his hands could hold more; the soft fabric getting squeezed so hard Sam's knuckles went white.

Dean extracted himself carefully, trying his best not to jostle Sam, treating him like a fragile glass piece on the edge of a table. Sam didn't even seem to notice, now almost completely in his own world of grief and hopelessness; self-loathing and defeat.

Dean knelt on the bed facing Sam, uncertain if any kind of affectionate touch would be wanted. When Sam gave a few hiccuping whimpers into the pillow, sounding like he was having trouble breathing, Dean stepped in and placed a delicate palm against Sam's back.

"Sammy," he whispered, "calm down."

Sam trembled under his touch and Dean started rubbing his back.

"Breathe, little brother, come on," Dean almost begged, reaching his other hand to thread through Sam's hair.

Dean bit his lip when Sam didn't respond. He moved up closer and lined his forearm up with Sam's spine and left a warm palm against the back of his neck. Sam reacted with a small inward motion like he wanted to pull away but didn't have the strength to do so. It was breaking Dean's heart; he had to say something - had to make this better somehow...

"Sam," Dean said softly, "I promise you. I didn't say any of that. I... the angels had me on lock down," Dean explained, knowing Sam knew about that weird angelic green room. Sam knew too because he'd seen it himself - the warehouse in Van Nuys where Dean had, again, nearly lost all faith in his brother.

Recalling that memory prompted Dean to think and feel like he was the shittiest brother in the world. Twice was too many times to refuse the benefit of the doubt to Sam...

Still, Dean had never -  _ever_ \- reached hate. He'd never fallen into the trap of contempt for his little brother. He'd been on the brink  _once_  before Bobby had ripped him a new one... but Sam had never been privy to that. And Bobby had successfully convinced him. He'd been thrust into that stupid room with nothing to do but stew over Bobby's words, the past, their father, his decisions - his  _attitude_  - and he'd called Sam to reach out, apologize, take back what he'd said in the motel room...

Dean closed his eyes, tried to remember the exact words he'd used.

"I called you. You didn't answer," Dean spoke in simple, short sentences. Sam had begun to quiet and it was all Dean needed to know the kid was listening. "It went to voice mail. I... I said... um," Dean closed his eyes, gently tightened his grip against Sam's neck reassuringly, "I was still mad. I owed you a serious beat down," he started and stopped when he felt Sam tense. He moved his hand up to Sam's head, brushed the kid's hair back affectionately, trying to comfort him. "I said I shouldn't have said what I said - in the motel room. I told you we were still brothers - family..." Dean trailed off and found himself leaning in and whispering the rest of his words, "No matter how bad it got, that was never gonna change... Sammy, I'm sorry," Dean breathed, channeling the memory of it through him and no longer interested in framing it like it was something from the past.

He was hovering in so close to his brother, the apology was practically at Sam's ears. Dean waited a couple seconds, frozen in place, no more than two inches between them, when Sam gave a jolted cough and, without even looking into his brother's eyes, twisted around and started to reach out.

Dean grabbed him immediately, desperate to pick him up and hold him in his arms. Because... that's just what they did now.

The sky was blue, the grass was green, Dean hugged and kissed and cuddled his sick little brother.

And Sam latched on the minute Dean pulled him in, went with him the second Dean started pulling him up and into his lap. Sam started crying again, clutching Dean, and struggled to speak.

"Dean... Dean that's not what I h-heard," Sam gulped between sobs, "I swear... I  _swear_..." he wept, "if I had heard that... I... wouldn't've... gone through with... with it," Sam finally choked out, bursting into a wave of gut-wrenching agony, all stemming from pain and regret.

Dean grasped Sam tightly, let a hand push up protectively against Sam's head and ducked his own face down against Sam's neck.

"It's okay, it's okay, Sammy," he whispered, starting to rock them back and forth. He could feel Sam's heart beating a mile a minute, the kid shattering against him as he tried to say more.

"I w-would've come back t'you," Sam promised wetly, "I would've... would've left her," he added tragically.

Dean froze, realization dawning on him. He pushed Sam away and the kid, thinking he'd said something wrong, moaned something unintelligible, distressed and reaching back out to his brother like he thought forgiveness had just been taken away and he was nothing more than a beggar now.

"Stop, stop, Sammy, it's okay, it's okay, lemme look at you," Dean hushed quickly, trying to stamp down Sam's cries. Dean framed Sam's face with his hands and tilted him up to look into his eyes. "Sammy, did you really hear that voice mail? Of me saying those things? You weren't in withdrawal hallucinations or anything?"

Sam blinked and gasped, heaving under his brother's intense scrutiny but returning it all the same in his own way. He shook his head slightly, eyes glazed with fever and confusion and depression.

"No I'd... had... I was fine. I swear, Dean, I heard something else. I... I heard what... what I told you," he said, his voice crackly with a raw, sore throat.

Dean winced, disturbed by the implications, and thumbed the tear streams off Sam's cheeks. Sam blinked at him, his eyes holding no light, no hope; nothing but a dependence on his big brother to tell him how things were going to go next. He'd take anything Dean was going to say... and it killed him. It killed Dean that there was still doubt - still some... unknowable fear in Sam's eyes that Dean was going to reject him. Like this conversation would reignite some sentiment Dean had once had that Sam was evil and deserved nothing. A sentiment Dean had  _never_  had.

"Sammy," Dean breathed, a single tear rolling down his own face, "we got played," Dean said, brushing Sam's hair back before pulling him back into the hug.

It could've been either side, the angels or the demons. Hell, it could've been both sides conspiring together. They'd never know. But if Sam would've left everything to come back to Dean just from hearing that message... something had to have intercepted it. Dean's blood boiled, thinking about Zachariah... Ruby... any other angels or demons they'd ever come into contact with that'd had the power and motivation to do such a thing-

"-What?" Sam whimpered, voice trembling even as he grasped onto Dean, tucked his chin in over the back of Dean's neck and held on for dear life. Dean's thirst for vengeance, his hatred for what'd happened between them when they'd only still just been kids in their fucking  _twenties_... They were too young to handle any of it. Too naive to believe something as mundane and easily accessible as a cell phone message could be twisted and altered into something that'd end up tipping the scales between preventing or beginning a fucking apocalypse...

"Someone fucked with the message, Sammy," he whispered into Sam's ear, hugging him closer, "I never said any of it."

With those words Sam immediately tensed, realization dawning and, once accepted, melted, limp like a rag doll, against his big brother. His tears dried, exhaustion overcoming him, and Dean could tell everything was over now. Sam was spent.

Dean propped him up against him, angled himself to lean them both against the headboard, the pillows uncomfortably jagged against his back but he didn't give a shit anymore. His focus was only on Sam, whose fever-warm body was still steady and breathing and depending on him.

"You've never been a monster, Sammy. I've never given up on you... and I never will," Dean said, picking his words carefully. Sam responded, clinging back onto to Dean, obviously so desperate to hear these things out of his brother's mouth, "You're my hero, Sam," Dean said, his voice surprisingly gravelly now, eyes watery, "and you're gonna survive this - all of this," Dean promised, and let the pause linger for emphasis... but also to get himself together for what he was going to say next, "-because you  _are_  good... and pure."

At the last word another tear broke under Dean's eye. He wiped it off and sniffed just as he felt Sam's body jerk with his own short sob.

"I love you," Sam squeaked out, his voice pitched with emotion.

"I love you too, Sammy," Dean breathed, propping his little brother up higher against him to get more comfortable. Sam went with it and started squirming against his brother, trying to find the most comfortable position before landing his head back on Dean's shoulder only this time with his head facing out at the room.

They just stayed there for awhile, Dean monitoring Sam's heart beat against him, Sam trying to figure out where to go from where they were but failing because his thoughts were muddying again. His sight slightly shifty and psychedelic, his eyes rolled downwards, back to the Universe blanket.

"Dean?" Sam wheezed, dropping a hand from the tight grip he'd had on his brother's back and reaching out for the cover.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Can we take this blanket with us?" Sam asked innocently.

Dean quirked the first smile he'd had in awhile and huffed a breath of relief, reaching out to help Sam grab the comforter and pull it over them.

"'Course, Sammy," he said roughly as he angled them downwards more so he could lie down on a pillow. He spread the blanket out over them, Sam still attached and wrapped around his side. When they were settled Dean gave a weak pull to Sam's shoulders to get him to come up and break his head over the covers. Sam complied weakly, sniffing wetly, still getting over the emotional fireworks of the past hour, and tucked his head in just below Dean's collarbone.

Dean heaved a long, drawn-out sigh and tried to relax. Sam's breath and heartbeat was syncing up with his as time went on. The kid was falling asleep and Dean wouldn't move an inch if the world depended on it and Dean began falling into his own sleepy reverie.

When Sam had been a baby, it'd been Dean that'd wrapped himself around Sam. He was older and bigger and he protected Sam from his own nightmares. Dean pulled from that sentiment on occasion, specifically when he'd - and he had to admit it to himself now under the circumstances -  _spooned_  his little brother at night.

But it wasn't  _spooning_  when he'd been a kid though - and it wasn't really  _spooning_  now. Just like Sam clinging to him now wasn't  _cuddling_. They were all just words - things they'd learned were sappy, useless or stupid as they'd grown older as boys under a single ex-military father. He was willing to admit to the words, he figured, but...

As children they'd needed the comfort, the closeness. John had been that way to Dean once; Dean knew it wasn't wrong. He just knew things were darker - more wrong - than they'd ever been after Mom died.

Dean loved Sam though and, under the circumstances they were in, he was responsible for Sam's well-being.

Sam was, mentally, a fully functional thirty-year old man, yes, but... at what point does the constant face of death destroy the pomp and circumstance of maturity?

As Dean held his little brother asleep in his arms, felt the man's heart beating, echoing the sounds of the same heart coming from the baby he'd been thirty years ago... and not finding any difference... Dean suddenly knew that point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	40. The Good Stories Don't Keep Us Waiting

Sam's eyes snapped open, suddenly awake. He was on his side, completely unable to move with Dean practically on top of him, his lead-heavy arm across his chest, elbow digging into his stomach. If that wasn't enough, Kevin's crackly nervous whisper when he was trying to sound delicate was coming from behind them like he thought it'd be more appropriate to speak to the backs of their heads instead of being a normal fucking person and facing them.  _Passive-aggressive coward_ , Sam thought irritably just before gasping with pain as Dean jerked awake with an accidental jab straight into Sam's stomach with his elbow.

" _What_?" Dean murmured sharply.

"Gah-"

"Guys!"

"What's happening?"

"- _Damn_  it, Dean!"

"Sorry," Dean murmured, pulling off Sam to twist around and look dazedly into Kevin's eyes. Sam winced and rolled forward onto his stomach, willfully ignoring the conversation between Dean and Kevin for a second to get over the gut punch his dear brother had just delivered.

"-ready to go in like... ten, fifteen minutes," Kevin whispered.

There was a pause, Sam writhing around slightly and Dean still staring up at Kevin blankly.

" _What_?"

"We're ready to go-"

"What time is it?" Dean perked up, making the bed shake, causing Sam to groan weakly into the pillow. Sam felt Dean put a comforting hand on his back. Sam slapped it away.

"Whoa," Dean said, ignoring Sam's temper, as he looked at the time.

"Can you be ready soon?" Kevin asked. "Cas and Metatron-"

"-Yeah yeah we're up. We're good, Kev. Jus' give us a few," Dean drawled, rubbing his eyes.

"Okay," Kevin replied, slowly back away, "s-sorry," he added.

"Shut up," Dean said kindly, waving him off.

Kevin left the room and again there was blessed silence. Sam heard Dean sigh, could tell Dean was wiping his face clear of sleep. Sam burrowed his own into the pillow, his stomach roiling now not just from Dean's elbow but the anxiety of leaving altogether. They had to be ready in fifteen minutes? No way. He couldn't do this right now. He felt nauseous.

"Dean..." Sam murmured heavily into the pillow.

"Yeah," Dean replied groggily, still bleary.

"We're not really going in fifteen minutes, right?" Sam said with a weird mix of anger and fear. He'd also accidentally made the statement a question. But he just wanted Dean's assurance he wouldn't have to do this so soon. He definitely needed more time before getting ripped out of the bunker, their home, and headed for his near-inevitable death. He needed his brother to tell him - agree with him - that it was asking too much. The time frame was unreasonable; he'd just woken up Christ's sakes.

"Yeah Sammy," Dean replied softly, still not moving from his upright position in bed next to him. Sam's chest was constricting, the dread starting to get to him. Dean wasn't on his side for this?

"Dean, no. I can't... We'll go tomorrow morning or something-"

Dean turned around to look at Sam, his eyebrow raised.

"We gotta go, dude," Dean said in a way that indicated he thought he was stating the obvious. He quirked a small smile. "You can handle it, tiger," he added, knocking his fist against Sam's shoulder.

With that one simple gesture, Sam's fear twisted into anger and he hit Dean's hand off him.

"No. We're not going yet. I don't want to," Sam said, steadfast.

Dean's expression shifted to annoyed confusion.

"You said we should go. So now we're going, Sam," Dean replied with a tinge of irritation.

"We will. Just not now," Sam said heatedly, then turned his head on the pillow so he wasn't facing Dean.

The bed was still for a second, Dean obviously thinking about Sam's behavior.

"Any new symptoms?" Dean asked deeply.

"No. I'm just not ready," Sam replied.

Dean let out an impatient sigh and got out of bed. Sam closed his eyes as Dean made his way around to Sam's side. He heard the sounds of Dean getting dressed, inwardly building his anger. If Dean thought he'd be getting Sam out of bed and thrusting him into this death trap of a journey before he was ready, he had another thing coming.

Sam waited for Dean to talk to him before opening his eyes again. Instead he heard the sounds of a wheelchair unfolding and angry curiosity got the better of him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sam practically growled as Dean finished with the wheelchair and started rolling it to the side of Sam's bed.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Dean snapped back, leaving the chair next to Sam. "I'm gonna go grab our things. Your ass better be in that chair before I get back, you understand me?"

Sam clenched his jaw and stared daggers at his brother, determinedly still lying down in bed.

"No," Sam sneered.

Dean shrugged and turned around to leave the room.

"Suit yourself," he said as he was about to walk out.

Sam whipped up in bed.

"If you think you're going into my room to pack my stuff-"

"-What? What'll you do, Sam?" Dean shot back, gesturing to his brother in bed.

"I swear to God," Sam said through gritted teeth.

Dean rolled his eyes and left the room.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, furious.

"Get in that chair, Sam," Dean warned from the hallway, "or I'll put you in it myself."

In the hallway Dean could hear his brother's response echo from their bedroom.

"Fuck you!"

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head, annoyed by his brother's attitude. He was just about to go into Sam's room when Kevin appeared. He nodded as the kid approached.

"What's up?"

"I wanted to grab a few of the med supplies you have in your room. We were holding off until you guys woke up."

Dean started shaking his head halfway through Kevin's explanation.

"Don't go in there. All of it's outdated. We'll hit up a hospital or clinic or something on our way."

Kevin whispered a breathy "okay" as he started again to move towards their room. Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"What?" Kevin asked.

"What else?"

Kevin looked slightly uncomfortable and shrugged under Dean's hand.

"Just... wanted to see Sam."

Dean gave Kevin a small amused smile before shaking his head.

"Wait outside - you'll see him in fifteen minutes, all right?"

Kevin looked surprised but nodded his acceptance.

"Okay," he said openly as he turned back around to head back outside.

...

"They'll be out in like fifteen, twenty minutes," Kevin said as he walked up the steps to the road outside the bunker. Metatron stopped pacing to look at him, gauging the veracity of the statement.

"Good," Castiel responded evenly.

"More like about fucking time," Metatron sniped. "What the hell have they been doing in there anyway?!"

"Sleeping. Sam needs his rest," Cas replied.

"And what's stopping him from getting some in a car?" Metatron countered. "We gotta get this show on the road. Otherwise our 'faithful hero' will drop dead within fifty miles of here!"

"Metatron, this is the thirteenth time I have respectfully asked you to stop making statements such as those."

"Well they're  _true_!" Metatron insisted, bending his knees and whipping his arms open with frustration. He looked to Kevin with wide eyes, implicitly asking for support. Kevin just stared him down and shook his head with disapproval. Metatron sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

"Humans," he muttered with disdain, resuming his pacing. "Y'know. Real stories - the good ones?  _They_  don't keep us waiting on their characters."

"This isn't a  _story_ , Metatron," Kevin shot back.

"Oh  _whatever_ ," Metatron waved at Kevin dismissively. Kevin sighed and Castiel looked to the sky and prayed for patience.

A few minutes later and the door to the bunker opened to reveal Dean bringing a few packed duffel bags out.

"Finally!" Metatron spat, then realized Dean had come without his brother. "Where's your brother?"

Dean, unabashedly ignoring Metatron, set the bags down and looked at their setup. A white van was parked behind the Impala - Dean had been sure to tell Kevin and Cas that if Metatron was coming with them, he'd be driving separately. He studied the van.

"A white windowless van, Cas?" Dean eventually asked, turning to the angel. Cas tilted his head, confused. Kevin smirked.

"I said we should spray paint 'free candy' on it," Kevin offered, smiling.

"I don't understand-"

"Me neither," Metatron shrugged, looking at the vehicle.

"This van is suspicious, Cas," Dean explained, uninterested in full disclosure. "Is it too late to switch it out with something else?"

"What would you prefer?"

"Something comfortable for Sam if he has to lie down in the back. Kevin-"

Kevin nodded and walked over to Cas.

"Can you take me with you? We're looking for like a minivan or SUV..."

Cas nodded.

"Of course," he said just as he touched Kevin's forehead and they disappeared. Dean sighed.

"They'll be back in mere minutes. Will you?" Metatron asked pointedly. Dean pivoted in pace to stare at the angel, obviously trying to keep his temper in check.

"Get those bags in the backseat," Dean finally said. He began to turn around when Metatron snapped, the bags vanished from the ground, and Dean spotted them stacked onto each other in the backseat of the Impala.

"Hurry... Up," Metatron enunciated seriously.

Dean grit his teeth together and walked down back into the bunker.

...

Sam was up, his fury at Dean having galvanized him into sharp, pissed movements around the bedroom as he got dressed. He was still nauseated and feeling a bit warm but otherwise he was in acceptable condition. He heard Dean's footsteps down the hall coming towards him before his voice echoed through into the bedroom.

"Sam, I got our bags packed. They're outside. Cas & Kevin are picking up an extra vehicle so we don't have to deal with Metatron. How you doing-" Dean stopped at the threshold, staring at Sam putting an over-shirt on. "You're up," Dean said, surprised.

"Yeah. Didn't need a fucking  _wheelchair_ ," Sam said viciously. Dean made a face; was Sam pissed at him or the wheelchair on that one?

"Well... good-?"

Sam stopped what he was doing and looked at Dean with vitriol.

"I'm not  _ready_ , Dean," he said sharply.

"I don't  _care_ , Sam," Dean mimicked. Sam pursed his lips, eyes lit with rebellion against his brother.

"What the hell, Sam. Drop the attitude," Dean said, grabbing the Universe blanket off the bed along with a few other pillows.

"This is mean," Sam said lowly, watching Dean fold the bedding haphazardly. "I just want one more night."

Dean finished gathering the stuff together in his arms and sighed from across the bed. He fixed his gaze on Sam.

"You're not going to get it. You said we'd go. And now it's time to go," Dean said calmly.

Sam swallowed and looked away, his eyes starting to water at the injustice. Why wasn't Dean bending on this when he'd been so lenient about everything else?

"You can do this, Sam-"

"I can't. You're wrong," Sam said shakily.

"You really think that?" Dean asked worriedly.

"Yeah," Sam whispered, looking down.

A few seconds of silence passed.

"Well," Dean huffed, "guess we'll find out. C'mon, little brother."

"I hate you for making me do this," Sam whispered. He didn't see it but it was that moment that triggered Dean into matching Sam's terrible mood. It also happened to be the moment Sam forgot about wanting to take a tour of the only home he'd ever had; to say a final goodbye to the only place he'd ever felt safe.

"C'mon Sam," Dean said harshly as he grabbed a fistful of Sam's shirt and tugged it sharply towards the door with him. Sam reacted by hitting Dean's wrist.

"Don't... fucking touch me," Sam said and Dean let go as he saw Sam was following after him into the hallway. He was practically seething; Dean could feel his brother's eyes drilling into the back of his head and it was getting on his nerves.

"You're such a fucking brat," Dean whispered loudly.

"You're a piece of shit," Sam shot back.

"Well you're a fucking moron that wants to  _delay saving the world_."

" _One night_ , Dean. Wouldn't make a god damn difference after we've spent  _weeks_  here and you damn well know it," Sam argued.

"I  _don't_  know that. And you don't either, Sam-"

"It's called  _logic_ , asshole."

"I don't even know what the hell you're talking about right now," Dean said quickly with a dismissive wave as they started climbing the stairs. Dean heard his brother mumble something probably pretty scathing but he'd already turned off his interest in Sam's shitty mood.

Halfway up the stairs to the bunker's entrance Dean realized Sam had stopped to just stand on the steps, his shoulders hunched in and arms clutched across his chest. His face was down, probably inwardly battling a request... which only further irritated Dean.

"Sam just fucking ask, will you?" Dean said sharply, pulling the Universe blanket out and roughly flipping it out and around Sam's back to the front. He tilted his head down to see Sam's expression. Bitch Face was still in full gear but the kid grabbed the ends of the blanket to keep it wrapped securely around him.

"This isn't enough. I need a jacket-" Sam commented snidely after he'd taken two more steps up.

"So we'll get you a damn jacket, Sam! Jesus Christ..." Dean muttered angrily, pushing the heavy door open to the bunker and letting the blast hit Sam straight in the face.

"Oh. Sorry," Dean deadpanned as Sam dealt with the shock of wind, recovered, then braced himself to keep going.

"You're an asshole," Sam replied lowly as he passed Dean to go outside.

...

Kevin and Cas had returned with a dark gray SUV. Kevin had asked Metatron to move their gear into the less sinister, more family-friendly vehicle to give him something to do... and in the hopes to keep him quiet for a few minutes maybe. Unfortunately Metatron had just snapped and it'd been done, resuming his litany of complaints and making Kevin want to scream. They were saved by the door to the bunker opening and he heard Sam's voice filter out.

"-an asshole."

"Shut up," Dean's sharp command responded immediately. They trudged up the stairs to the street as Metatron leaned over the railing to take a look at them.

"Hey guys!" Kevin greeted cheerfully, "Sam-"

"Don't talk to Sam - he's being a pissy little bitch right now," Dean offered belligerently as he walked to the back seat of the Impala to throw the pillows inside.

"I'm  _not_... God," Sam breathed.

"Sam?" Castiel prompted, interested.

"I'm not ready to go," Sam said determinedly. "This is fucked up. We're leaving too early."

Cas tilted his head in sympathy, Kevin looked to Dean, and Dean sighed with frustration as he leaned forward against the car. All subtle, calm initial reactions... save for one.

" _WHAT_?!" Metatron yelled, stepping forward, his eyes bugging out. Sam gripped the ends of his blanket around him tighter but he stood his ground. "Are you  _insane_?! We've already wasted precious time on your  _stupid_   _nap_! Do you even understand how ridiculous this has all been? How much we've been needing to  _get going_  since the moment Castiel found me?!"

Dean winced and stepped out closer to Metatron who'd been slowly approaching Sam during his diatribe.

"You are a tiny, insignificant, sniveling  _ant_ that's been given the opportunity to die for something so much more important than you... and you want a  _full night's rest_?! Who the hell do you think you are?!" Metatron shouted, his last sentence forcing Sam to take a step backwards.

"That's enough, Metatron," Castiel said. Dean walked towards his brother as Metatron turned his attention to Castiel.

"What the hell is he even  _wearing,_ Castiel?!" Metatron whined angrily, "Look at him!" He gestured to Sam, now huddling and trembling under the Universe blanket, defeated sadness and fear in his expression.

Metatron bent forward and obnoxiously feigned sympathy.

"Is that your  _blankie_ , Sam? Is our fearless hero really-"

"-shut up," Dean interrupted, voice steady and deep as he reached his brother. He wrapped an arm around Sam's back protectively and Sam bit his lip as he looked at the ground, allowing it.

"But-"

"Get in the car," Dean ordered.

Metatron sneered at the older brother for a few seconds until he gave up, rolled his eyes, and huffed with disapproval before turning around towards the minivan.

"A  _blankie_ ," Dean muttered contemptuously, then shouted back at Metatron, "you look like a fuckin' hitch-hiking serial killer and you're calling a blanket out." Metatron shot him a bitch face to rival Sam's and flipped Dean his middle finger before getting into the passenger seat of the van.

"I really don't want to drive with him," Kevin murmured to himself, massaging his temples.

Ignoring Kevin's comment, Dean pulled Sam slightly towards him and the Impala.

"C'mon."

Sam took one step forward and shrugged Dean off him, his temper somehow flaring right back.

"I didn't need that."

"Oh my God," Dean breathed, rolling his eyes as he let go and walked over to Cas. He heard Sam open & close the Impala's passenger door as he moved to face the angel. Cas' eyes were squinted, his gaze focused on what Dean had no doubt was Sam getting into the car.

"Sam seems-"

Dean held up his hand to cut Cas short.

"You going to get the pieces we need for the third trial?"

Cas hesitated before nodding. Dean mimicked the angel's confirmation and looked into his eyes.

"You be safe, okay?"

"I will, Dean."

"And check in on us whenever you get a chance," Dean said, his voice rough but it was still a clear hopeful request.

Cas' lips turned up slightly and nodded.

"Okay."

"Good."

Cas stared into Dean's eyes for a few beats too long. Dean allowed it, now completely accustomed to this. He got the impression that Cas enjoyed looking into his eyes - his soul. It was both flattering and uncomfortable... but Cas was an angel. In the number of ways he could have gone wrong as a member of his species, looking into Dean's eyes was as innocuous as it got.

"I will see you soon, Dean. Good luck."

Dean nodded.

"You too."

With that, Castiel vanished and Dean took a moment. He washed a hand down his face, stressed. A minute later the sound of Kevin's voice registered close by and Dean turned. He spotted the kid by the passenger seat window talking to Sam. Taking a few steps forward, Dean opened the driver's seat door and ducked in to join the party.

"What's goin' on?" Dean interrupted. Kevin stopped immediately and looked at him like a deer caught in headlights while Sam shifted to stare out the windshield, determinedly silent.

Dean was better at reading his brother so he focused on him: a scarlet tinge running to the apples of his cheeks, jaw clenched, wide open unblinking eyes refusing to meet his gaze.

Was Sam embarrassed?

Kevin coughed and Dean raised his gaze up to the passenger seat window.

"I was... just saying that Sam could get some rest in the back of our car if he wanted," Kevin explained hesitantly.

"Uh, okay. Sam?"

Sam clenched his jaw repeatedly and gave a small sharp head shake, eyes still glazed over and focused straight forward at the road. Dean raised an eyebrow when he looked back up at Kevin.

"Um, okay. I was just checking," Kevin said, backing up. Kevin awkwardly waved and said goodbye to them before turning back to the minivan. Dean held the same judgmental, baffled look as he watched him go. He glanced at Sam before pulling out his keys and turning the ignition.

"That was weird," Dean murmured distractedly to Sam as he let the engine warm up. Sam finally let out a huff and bent his head down to rub it.

"What?"

Sam huffed again but this time Dean thought he saw the hint of a dimple through Sam's fingers.

"Sam," Dean prompted lightly. Sam put his hand down and looked at his brother wearily, a tiny smile playing on his face.

"He... he said he'd noticed..." Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled once before looking back at Dean, "he was offering the minivan so we could 'have some space,'" Sam air-quoted.

Dean's expression shifted from curiosity to a knowing grin.

"Awww," Dean undertoned.

"Shut up," Sam said, smirking, "jerk."

"Bitch."

"Dean... sorry-"

"-Shut up."

Dean shifted to drive and they started down the road, Kevin's gray SUV pulling up right behind them.

They were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	41. Mementos

Under any other circumstances, Dean would be jumping for joy. Back behind the wheel of his baby, on the road with his brother next to him, cleaned & polished loaded weapons and a fully stocked First Aid kit riding in the trunk. These moments were usually what his dreams were made of. He just needed Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man" on the tape deck and a couple cold ones in the cooler they had in the back to round out the surface perception he had everything he could possibly want.

Spring was sneaking up on them too. As Dean had passed the sign welcoming them into Nebraska headed for Kearney to pick up I-80 West, he idly started to appreciate the signs of life struggling to bloom under the unseasonably cold weather.

It had been around three-thirty when they left Lebanon. The sun was going down now. The bits and pieces of technicolor flora were draining to the blue-gray hue of dusk.

Depending on how Sam was doing they'd either stop in North Platte or Cheyenne for the night. Normally Dean would push them through: traffic lightened considerably and troopers cared less about speeding any time past midnight.

Things were obviously different now.

Dean listed the drawbacks in his head: a douche angel and an innocent kid driving in the car behind them. It'd seemed natural at the time that Kevin would be coming with them but about an hour ago it'd occurred to Dean that Kevin could've stayed back, safe in the bunker - getting the break he deserved.

Dean should've realized - should've been thinking in the kid's best interests. For once he could've handed Kevin the key to the bunker and pushed him off their path and out of danger.

Then again, Kevin had to have realized the opportunity himself, right? He was a smart kid. But he hadn't mentioned anything... and after rewinding and replaying the past couple of weeks, Dean had to square it with himself that Kevin simply wanted to come with them.

What a terrible call, Dean thought even though he had to admit... it sort of felt good.

Besides the second half of their tiny convoy, there was Sam beside him. Normally a good thing, granted, but Sam still had that pinched bitch look. Again, normally not a big deal... but combined with his pale face and his body looking too small under the patchwork comforter he had wrapped around his entire body, Sam's bearing was more unnerving to Dean than what a negligible and fleeting nasty attitude would be otherwise to him.

Dean had kept the music off, uninterested in getting on Sam's nerves. He'd also been unusually quiet, stomping down on his compulsion to ask Sam if he was okay every fifteen minutes and letting his own mind wander. He knew he had to allow Sam whatever down time he needed to get over things.

Dean flicked the headlights on when he saw Kevin do the same in his rear view mirror. His eyes had simply adjusted to the dark as he'd been thinking about where and how he was going to get the time to "borrow" a few things from whatever hospital or clinic he was going to "visit"... and what he'd get to begin with.

Maybe he should just rob an ambulance? All the equipment in there was meant for a vehicle anyway... Also why didn't Cas and Kevin just get an ambulance to drive?

Dean shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Scratch that - it'd freak the shit out of Sam if they always had an ambulance behind them for him. Still, the idea of just hitting up an ambulance had merit. He needed a wheelchair though...

Sam shifted next to him, pulling the blanket closer together across his chest and stomach and sighing as he leaned forward.

"You cold?" Dean asked, breaching the silence that'd been hanging between them for the past couple of hours. It was more specific than "are you okay?" so he figured maybe he'd be in the clear.

Sam swallowed and shook his head.

"No," he replied quietly, keeping his arms wrapped around his waist. "My stomach's just..." he trailed off miserably.

"You nauseous?" Dean replied evenly, gripping his hands on the wheel to stop himself from reaching out to feel Sam's neck. If there was one thing Sam couldn't handle when he was feeling pissy it was unwanted touching.

"Nah-"

"Hungry?"

Sam swallowed again and let out a deep sigh as he leaned back. He shook his head with his eyes closed.

"Constipated?" Dean prompted, forcing neutrality in his tone and expression.

"Uh," Sam huffed, "no, Dean," he said but there was no heat behind it. Dean glanced at his brother. Sam's eyes were half-open, idly staring at him.

"You still in a shitty mood?"

Sam sighed tiredly.

"Maybe. I don't know," he replied honestly. Dean kept his face forward with his eyes on the road.

"We'll stop. North Platte. Maybe one more hour to go," Dean offered. In his peripheral vision he saw Sam nod in acknowledgment. "Just hang in there," Dean added softly.

Silence reigned in the car again after that. Dean called Kevin to let him know where they'd be stopping for the night. He heard Metatron in the background complaining about the premature halt and, as had become habit hearing the angel's voice, Dean felt like punching something.

About forty-five minutes later Dean honestly thought Sam had fallen asleep. To his surprise Sam's voice was smooth with wakefulness when he spoke, albeit noticeably dull with exhaustion.

"What bag did you pack my stuff in?"

"Huh?"

Dean gave Sam a double-take, confused.

"My duffle - which one did you use to pack my stuff?"

"Uh... I don't know. Are you feeling better? We're about fifteen minutes awa-"

"-I have a blue one and a green one," Sam interrupted and for a second Dean thought Sam's inner brat was surfacing again until the kid's voice softened, "Please Dean - do you remember which one you picked? It's important."

"Why?" Dean couldn't help but ask, his curiosity getting the better of him. He felt Sam's eyes on him and risked another glance. Sam was just staring at him, looking like something significant really was hinging on his answer here.

"I... think... the green one-?" Dean finally said. "Now do I get the prize?" he joked, turning to Sam to gauge his reaction.

His heart sank when he saw it though. Sam seemed crestfallen, like Dean's answer had just stolen something out of him. Sam's eyes were glistening with unshed tears, his mouth parted slightly with the shock of having lost this thing - whatever the hell it was - forever.

"Sammy-?" Dean prompted, worried now. Sam snapped out of it and took a deep breath as he wiped his eyes and shook his head. "Sam what the hell was in the blue bag?" Dean asked.

"Nothing," Sam sniffed, shaking his head and looking determinedly out the passenger door window. "Really it was... it's nothing."

"Dude it's obviously not nothing-"

"-Dean," Sam interrupted, cutting his brother short. "It's fine. It's my fault anyway," he said lowly, flipping the blanket covers around him sharply and trying to settle back into his seat.

Dean made a face, annoyed Sam wasn't letting him in on this.

"What's your fault?"

"Dean, drop it. We can't go back. It doesn't matter," Sam whispered, still looking out the window.

Dean had nothing better to do with his frustration than to clench his jaw and grip the wheel tighter. A few minutes later he heard Sam sniffing and out of the corner of his eye saw him surreptitiously wiping his face off with the blanket.

Whatever they'd left behind in that duffel was a big deal. Knowing Sam, Dean was willing to bet dollars to donuts it was something embarrassingly sentimental he didn't want his big brother knowing about. Maybe a gift from Jess or photos of the dream he'd been living at Stanford... or Kermit, Dean thought with a small twist to his heart. Maybe it was something with Amelia, the girl he'd fallen in love with while Dean had been in the fight-or-die trenches of purgatory.

Dean loved his brother but sometimes it hurt to know Sam only ever wanted out. Dean was a packaged deal: companionship and hunting. One didn't exist without the other for him... and Dean knew Sam. Dean knew that if they hadn't been fated and forced by heaven and hell Sam would've left him a long time ago in search of a companion that wouldn't hunt.

Just like Dean knew now that once the trials were over and Sam closed the gates to hell once and for all, his little brother would leave him for whatever was in that damn blue duffel... and Dean would have to let him.

Dean coughed and rubbed his own eyes, wishing he'd never gone down this train of thought. Sam wasn't going to leave him for awhile, he reassured himself, and they had way more important things to think about anyway. Things like Sam's welfare.

Dean pulled onto the main street in North Platte and caught another glimpse of his brother under the streetlight. His eyes were red and sore but his cheeks were dry; Sam had reined it in about five - maybe ten - minutes ago from the looks of it.

"Almost there, Sammy," Dean murmured sadly, slowly recognizing his brother's emotional stresses were cutting them both down a little more than he had anticipated.

He caught the small nod Sam made against the window. Dean wanted to reach out - rub Sam's back or something - but held off just in case.

His cell went off at that moment, distracting them both. Dean grappled for it a few seconds before pressing to accept Kevin's call.

"Yeah?"

"Hey are you guys pulling into the motel up ahead?"

"S'what I was thinking, yeah."

"You want us to grab dinner?"

Dean blinked, surprised.

"Uh... yeah," he replied dumbly.

"What do you guys want?" Kevin asked and Dean saw the SUV behind them slowing down and signaling. He glanced beyond Sam through the passenger window just in time to see a diner he hadn't noticed pass them by.

"Um. Burger and fries for me... Sam?"

Sam flinched out of whatever reverie he'd slipped into since Dean had answered the call.

"What?"

"Food?"

"Not hungry."

"Get Sam a sandwich," Dean said, speaking back into the phone, "something plain."

Sam rolled his eyes with a small smile and shrugged.

"Yep you got it," Kevin replied and disconnected.

Dean set the phone down as Sam turned around in his seat to see Kevin turn into the diner. He didn't ask any questions though so Dean figured he'd two and two together.

They pulled into a Lucky Duck Motel, a relatively reliable chain, and Dean parked near the office.

"Sit tight okay?"

Sam nodded. Dean got out and just before closing the door Sam piped up.

"Hey-!"

"What?"

"Can you put us as far away from Metatron as possible?"

Dean snorted then stopped, realizing Sam wasn't making a joke. He tilted his head with curiosity, still crouched into the car.

"The, um..." Sam blinked and twirled his hand like he was trying to remember a word, "the resonating thing-"

"Is that still happening? I thought he'd capped his grace so you wouldn't have to hear it."

Sam shrugged lamely.

"It's still there... but... not as bad as before, y'know?"

Dean gritted his teeth and held back on reaming Sam out for not telling him sooner. A few beats just looking at him did the trick: he wanted Sam fed and warm and asleep in bed.

"All right. Be right back," Dean murmured and slammed the door behind him.

He jogged in, ordered the rooms, used a fake credit card, got the keys and jogged back out within seven minutes exactly - Dean kept track.

He turned the ignition, pulled out of the space and moved further into the parking lot getting as close to their room as he could. The headlights lit up their door number as he pulled into the right spot.

"Here we go," Dean mumbled absently, shifting Baby into park and turning off the engine. He shifted to face Sam. "Okay how you doin'?"

Sam didn't turn to look at him... seemed like he hadn't even heard him even though Dean was positive he had. He just... stared at the door, lucky number thirteen, his expression numbly impassive.

"Sam-?"

"We just... left," Sam said suddenly, his tone equally devoid of emotion, his eyes still staring at the motel room door. Dean waited on his brother.

"I just... wish..." Sam trailed off, took a deep breath, and shifted his gaze to down, letting his hair fall forward.

Dean bit his bottom lip, considering, then got out of the car. It took two seconds to come around and open Sam's door.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean whispered, reaching into the folds of the blanket around Sam.

Sam nodded and returned the gesture, getting a hold of Dean's arms and using them as leverage to turn and get up. As he rose to a full stand he faltered.

"Whoa okay," Dean murmured, taking a step between Sam's feet and grabbing him against him. "We're good it's good."

"I'm okay," Sam rasped even though he was still holding onto Dean around the shoulders now. "Jus... got dizzy for a sec..."

"Okay," Dean replied, steadying his brother. A second later he pulled off and moved in again so they were side-to-side, Sam's arm around his shoulders, Dean's arm around Sam's back. "This okay?" Dean checked.

"Yeah," Sam answered and with that they took their first steps towards the door. Dean licked his lips nervously, knowing his words had to come now while Sam was focused and distracted on something else.

"Listen Sam," he started, then waited for Sam to tell him to shut up. When nothing like that happened Dean called it a win and kept going, "We had to pull the band-aid off fast on the bunker, man. We weren't ever gonna feel good about leaving."

"Dean-"

"-Let me finish," Dean interrupted but then he had to stop anyway because they'd just made it to the door. Dean fumbled with the lock device a couple times before it beeped green and they continued their cardboard walk into the room.

"You're gonna make me a list, okay?" Dean said, bypassing the first bed from the door.

"-what?" Sam asked, confused.

"-of all the things I missed when I packed for you in the bunker," Dean continued, seating Sam heavily onto the second bed.

"Dean-"

"-and when Cas comes back," Dean huffed as he sat down next to his brother, "we'll ask him to go back and grab whatever you want."

Sam blinked at his brother a couple times with incomprehension before a spark of sudden hope lit up in his eyes.

Dean smiled kindly and hoped his own twisted sense of loss and jealousy wasn't coming through.

"I hadn't even thought of that," Sam sighed happily, visible relief coursing through him as he leaned forward and balanced his elbows on his knees. Dean shrugged, keeping his smile intact.

"I know. I'm pretty awesome, right?" Dean quipped. Sam chuckled and nodded, grinning now and looking just so much better.

Dean didn't use literary terms often but this was bittersweet. He rubbed Sam's back encouragingly, trying to find and isolate the happiness flowing through Sam to funnel it into himself... because if Dean dug any deeper he'd maybe realize Sam was saying he needed mementos and reminders that Dean knew nothing about. These things that would anchor Sam with hope for a better life after all this... a life that wouldn't include Dean.

Dean swallowed and blinked a few times, trying to get out of this bullshit headspace.

Sam was oblivious, rubbing his hands together and pushing his hair back; his light and energy seeping slowly back into him. Dean hoped his appetite might boost as a result too.

The older brother's resolve strengthened at the sight: whatever Sam wanted - if it was going to help carry him through - it was worth it. It was all worth it.

"No list," Sam said suddenly, looking at Dean like he had just set him free.

Dean quirked an eyebrow.

"What?"

Sam shook his head, smiling.

"No list. Just... just that blue duffel," Sam replied, his voice smooth and excited. Dean raised both eyebrows expectantly and when Sam just kept looking at him with delight, Dean lifted his hands up and shrugged.

"Okay," he said, getting up, not fully understanding but... hey whatever. "I'll be right back," he added, getting up to get their bags.

Fuck it, Dean thought. Anything his brother was this happy about had to be something Dean could be happy about too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	42. Down Time

Sam's relief over getting his duffel from the bunker was relatively short-lived. After getting their bags inside Dean had asked him if he wanted to wash up or anything and Sam had to decline, still feeling drained. Dean gave it to him and said he'd be taking a quick shower - "holler if you need me" - and ducked inside.

Dean didn't close the door to the bathroom - probably to better hear if Sam actually did holler - so when the shower spray went on it was loud and clear. Sam sighed and slumped down onto his pillow. It took a few sore moments of moving like an old man to successfully land his feet on the bed.

He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of everything. He kept accidentally coming back and around to the thought that he'd always taken his health for granted.

He lifted his hands to look at them, examining the delicate bones and then the veins on the inside of his wrist. Even though he'd literally died several times before, his life had never seemed so fragile to him as it did now. The blood flowing through his body... his heart beat, small rhythmic streaks of electricity pulsing through him, was the only thing keeping him alive, allowing him to exist and think and hold this beaten & hell-ravaged soul inside.

Perhaps it was the state of his soul that allowed Sam to withstand the trials' symptoms. He felt no sense of resentment towards his body's failings... and maybe it was because a battered soul wouldn't feel betrayed by a battered vessel.

Sam recognized his rather dramatic musings for what they were when Dean's terrible off-key rendition of Skynyrd's Simple Man blared out and echoed from the bathroom's acoustics. Sam huffed with a small smile and sighed again as he took the motel room's decor in. The curtains were maroon with a chevron pattern, the floor carpet a dark brown floral disaster, and the bed linens featured some nice shades of murky green. The boring landscape artwork was framed by wood spray-painted gold; Sam could tell because the paint was chipping and flaking off.

Sam turned over, looking for the Universe blanket and finding it. The blanket was particularly cheerful and stood out in the drab room what with its bright and unstained colors and patterns. Sam pulled it up and spread it out over his queen-sized bed to lie on top of. Sometimes the little things made all the difference these days.

As Sam huffed back down onto his bed, slightly out of breath, someone banged on the door.

"Hey it's me!" Kevin called from outside and Sam frowned.

"Hold-" Sam coughed, "Hold on Kev." He listened for his brother, who'd stopped singing at some point but the shower was still running. "Dean!" he hollered, and the water turned off. " _Dean_!" Sam repeated.

Two seconds later Dean appeared soaking wet and dripping with a towel cinched around his waist with one hand.

"What's up - what's wrong?" He asked seriously, looking Sam up and down with wide eyes. Sam swallowed and looked apologetic when the door banged again.

"Hey," Kevin called from outside, "it's me."

"Could you get the door?" Sam asked, his words overlapping with Kevin's - but Dean was already on his way over. He gripped the knob with his free hand and opened the door only so far.

"Get-in-Get-in-Get-in," Dean said urgently and Kevin hopped to, rushing inside with a generic white plastic bag carrying three styrofoam boxes of food. Dean slammed the door shut and padded straight back into the bathroom whispering what sounded to Sam like, "shit  _fuck_  it's cold - holy shit - oh my God..." before slamming the bathroom door to towel off and change. Before Sam could revel in the comedy of it Kevin got started.

"Oh my God, please let me eat with you guys here. I cannot... handle... one more minute..."

"Metatron?" Sam prompted knowingly even though, to be fair, he knew nothing about what it'd be like to have Metatron in the passenger seat. Kevin grimaced with wide eyes and nodded as he moved over to Sam's bed, setting the bags down on the mattress between them to pull the boxes out. Sam straightened up to sit against the headboard.

"What's he like?" Sam asked softly, folding his arms across his chest and one leg over the other, ready to listen.

Kevin let out a frustrated sigh as he opened the boxes: burger for Dean, grilled cheese for Sam, club sandwich for himself.

"Well," Kevin sighed, "the guy doesn't stop talking, for one thing-"

"-about what?" Sam interrupted, interested. Kevin finished laying the food out on the patchwork bedspread and sat down. He leaned over to untie his shoes.

"Stories - classics mostly," Kevin replied as he finished and pulled up to face Sam. He folded his legs under him and reached for his sandwich. Sam swallowed back the small pang of revulsion he felt at the sight of Kevin about to dig in - at the concept that he'd soon be expected to eat as well once Dean came in. Kevin held the sandwich to his mouth but stopped in thought then lowered it to talk. It was pretty weird to feel relieved by that but Sam took what he could get and focused on what Kevin was saying.

"He literally ran through every fatal flaw, archetype, themes, motifs - you name it - about so many classics he'd read I was seriously ready to throttle him," Kevin said sincerely, shaking his head. Sam's brow furrowed and he raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you in advanced placement? That sounds more like an ongoing college lecture more than torture-"

"Trust me it's torture," Kevin quipped before taking a full bite of his sandwich. Sam smiled and thanked his lucky stars the anticipatory nausea of seeing Kevin eat had passed. As long as Sam didn't think about having to eat himself he was in the clear so he just left Kevin to chew in silence as he mulled over his report on Metatron.

"I think you were right though," Kevin suddenly spoke up, his mouth half-full. Sam flinched slightly and eyed Kevin curiously.

"About what?"

"Mm," Kevin hummed as a placeholder before swallowing his bite, then gestured to Sam. "What you said - about Metatron not betraying us."

"Why?"

Kevin squinted his eyes and looked off in thought for a second.

"The stuff Metatron was saying..."

"Uh huh?" Sam prompted.

"Metatron thinks the trials - these trials - are only the beginning of your story. I don't think he has any intention to double cross us to... to..." Kevin faltered a second but Sam nodded easily with understanding, "...get you killed..." Kevin paused to look down and swallow then looked back up into Sam's eyes, "...because he's so desperate about being part of a story, you know? And... since he's chosen yours..."

"-he won't let me die," Sam finished Kevin's sentence, nodding. Kevin sighed and nodded unhappily.

"Not peacefully anyway," Kevin said offhandedly before biting into his sandwich. Sam looked up.

"The hell does that mean?" Sam asked, concerned. Kevin froze mid-bite, then resumed chewing quickly so he could answer.

"Metatron kinda... like... really likes bloody endings for heroes..." Kevin explained hesitantly, a slow apologetic cringe taking over his expression. Sam's eyebrows raised.

"We talkin' like Butch and Sundance-?"

"Yeah!" Kevin latched onto the reference with too much optimism. Sam eyed Kevin warily and the kid deflated. "Only more... y'know... graphic... and..." Kevin coughed through his last word, "torture."

Sam's eyes widened incredulously before he sighed with resignation and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the board.

"Tremendous," Sam dead-panned, eyes still closed. Kevin winced and put his food down, his appetite no longer what it was. After a few seconds of silence the sound of the toilet flushing in the bathroom snapped Sam back to what was important. He cracked his eyes open to look at Kevin.

"Hey," he murmured and Kevin looked up. "None of that to Dean, all right? He doesn't need to know," Sam whispered tiredly.

"Okay, Sam," Kevin promised, nodding earnestly.

With that said, Sam felt better. Dean would be out in a second and he needed to change the subject.

"Hey," Sam prompted, suddenly upbeat, "does Metatron smell like cabbage?"

Kevin cocked his head to the side, baffled.

"What?"

Sam actually gave a small chuckle at Kevin's reaction just as Dean opened the bathroom door wide and sauntered in freshly showered and shaven. He grinned at the sight of Kevin and Sam on the bed - but more importantly the food between them.

"Eats!" he clapped his hands together before moving forward to snatch his burger up with relish. "Where's Metatron?" he asked offhandedly as he moved over to the other free queen-sized bed in the room.

"Probably like... standing... somewhere-?" Sam ventured comically, recalling Castiel's penchant for it.

Dean snorted softly as he put his feet up on the bed and grabbed the remote with his free hand.

"Gonna stay here with us tonight Kev?" Dean asked absently, turning the TV on and flipping through channels. Sam looked over to the kid, still eating and seated cross-legged on the mattress facing towards Sam. Despite Dean's nonchalance Kevin, again, looked something like a deer in headlights. Sam laughed softly and sat up a little straighter as he quietly waved for Kevin to come up and lean against the headboard next to him so he could watch TV. Before Kevin took Sam up on it he swallowed down some of his sandwich and directed his reply to both of them.

"I'll... I'd... chill for awhile. I can go back to my room afterwards though no problem," he said, still tentative. Dean just glanced at him, giving him an indifferent nod of approval, and went back to focusing on the channels. Sam rolled his eyes and waved Kevin over again and this time Kevin gave a small smile and crawled over and up next to Sam. The three of them relaxed and Dean murmured "sweet" while chewing his food when he found a station that was only about ten minutes into Jurassic Park. Sam huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes as he got comfortable next to Kevin. He secretly hoped he wouldn't be found out for awhile that he was the only one not eating.

"By the way," Kevin murmured, leaning in towards Sam so their shoulders touched. Sam's eyebrows raised as he tilted his head slightly to look at him, "he totally smells like cabbage."

Sam gave a low-grade laugh and Kevin joined in.

"Cabbage and like... mold... mothballs!" Kevin added honestly with disgust.

"What?" Dean asked, turning away from his engagement of the film.

"Metatron smells," Sam supplied, smiling. Dean ticked his head to the side for a second.

"Not surprised," Dean replied, not missing a beat, and going back to his burger as the movie played on.

"I think we have a couple air fresheners in the car," Sam offered.

"Worth a try," Kevin said, feigning desperation that broke into a grin. He glanced at Sam's grilled cheese. "You gonna eat?" he asked openly yet quietly so Dean wouldn't overhear. Sam sighed and looked at the food. "I can heat it up for you," Kevin added.

Sam contemplated with pursed lips then let it go and nodded.

"Yeah I'd appreciate that," he relented. Kevin gave Sam a disconcertingly brilliant smile before jumping up with the container to throw it into the microwave. Sam watched pleasantly until Kevin turned the corner into the kitchenette then shifted to a cringe as he turned to look at his brother. Dean was already grinning directly at him.

"You got yourself a fan," Dean teased quietly. Sam glared. "He looooves you," Dean added right after taking a huge bite of his burger and opening wide.

"Ugh you're disgusting," Sam retorted, shaking his head but having a hard time suppressing a smile. Dean laughed.

"Hey man anyone that badgers you into eating besides me gets four stars from where I'm standing," Dean murmured, still speaking with in an undertone so Kevin couldn't hear.

"I thought you'd get jealous," Sam bantered back. Dean recoiled and made a face.

"You're weird."

" _You're_  weird. I'm not the one with an unhealthy obsession with somebody else's appetite."

"It's not an unhealthy obsession with your appetite if your appetite is unhealthy to begin with," Dean counterpointed; no heat behind it though. Sam blinked blankly back at his brother. "What?" Dean smirked, anticipating a good comeback.

"I'm... just... impressed you could string all that into a sentence much less a valid point-"

Dean huffed a laugh and threw a pillow at Sam just as Kevin walked in with Sam's nuked food.

"I thought it was only girls that had pillow fights when they were all together," Kevin quipped then inwardly paused to wonder how the hell he got so comfortable to say stuff like that around Sam and Dean.

"Yeah well," Sam took it and ran with it as he settled the pillow Dean had thrown him onto his lap to serve as his tray for the grilled cheese Kevin was reaching out to him, "Dean threw the first pillow."

"I'll admit it: I love pillow fights," Dean offered distractedly, watching Robert Muldoon's character introduction - talking about Velociraptors outside the paddock. The joke kind of died with Dean there but Sam chuckled anyway as he reached to take the first bite of his sandwich. After a few minutes and a couple of slow bites Sam managed to get used to the bland yet palatable taste.

Right around when Sam had finished about half of it Kevin left for a second to go to the bathroom. Dean leaned over and caught his eye.

"Hey. It's okay? You okay?" Dean asked openly, a mix between assessing Sam's food and Sam himself.

Sam stared at Dean, his brother's simple check-in having a surprising effect on him - a level of grateful affection rushing through Sam that was coming out of nowhere... and tipped him off that he must be way more exhausted than he thought he was. He swallowed and nodded back to Dean.

"Yeah... yeah I'm... okay," Sam said haltingly, feeling a slight lump in his throat because it was actually true.

He pushed it all down though - he was so  _not_  going to let this weird moment of weakness get the better of him. He took another bite of his grilled cheese as evidence to Dean and Dean quirked a kind smile and nod before going back to the movie.

Sam blinked back whatever emotions were running through him. He knew he was justified - a good solid wave of clarity sweeping over him that this evening - the simplicity of them sharing a motel room and watching a movie and eating take-out - it was like any other good memory of basic comforts and care they'd afforded one another over the entirety of their lives.

It was like nothing and everything was changing at the same time...

All Sam could think about was how many more nights would he get to have just like this one before he died.

...

The movie was pretty much over when Dean thought to get up and square a few things away. Sam and Kevin were pretty much passed out in bed so he grabbed Sam's duffel and pulled out clothes for him the next day, picked up a few odds and ends off the floor to throw away. Sam had long since finished with the grilled cheese on his lap but there was still an uneaten corner left inside. Dean unthinkingly popped it into his mouth before pulling it away as quietly as possible. Sam grunted and moved, his eyes opening to slits. Dean turned off the TV when Sam gathered himself to use his voice.

"Hey," he muttered, bleary. Dean glanced up at him.

"Hey go back to sleep," Dean said softly before walking away to crush and throw the container into the trashcan. Sam blinked his eyes open further and sat up a bit more.

"What? No, I'm awake," he said groggily. Dean gave a muffled snort as he folded his own clothes back into his duffel.

"Oh okay," he said dumbly, rolling his eyes. There was definitely no reason for Sam to insist he was up right now; Dean himself was going to hit the sack in a second anyway. Still if he was up he could give Sam a job to do.

"You wanna wake Kev up so he can go back to his room?" Dean asked lightly, nodding towards the kid sprawled out next to Sam. Sam shifted to look at him, taking a second to lean over him a bit more.

"He's drooling," Sam said, his voice full of crackly amusement. Dean smiled as Sam went back to his own side of the bed and tossed an arm over his eyes. "I don't wanna wake him up," he said wearily, "I don't even care."

"You sure?" Dean asked, turning off the rest of the room's lights before coming over to his bed and sitting down.

"Yeah," Sam replied.

"All right. Sleep tight Sammy," Dean said, flicking the nightstand light off and pulling his shirt off in the dark. The heater had been on this whole time and Dean was feeling it. He slipped under the covers and after a two-count beat of realization that this was the first time in a while that he wasn't sharing a bed with Sam, spread out over the entire bed with a slow sigh of pleasure, hitting the cold pockets in the sheets with his feet and loving it. He listened to his brother's steady breaths and Kevin's small rustling movements on the other side of the bed. Dean figured Kevin would be a habitually restless sleeper... and idly hoped it wouldn't bother Sam too much. Then again Sam was not without his own bothersome sleeping patterns. Ever since he was a kid Sam unconsciously inched towards whatever heat was in the bed when he was asleep if he was running a temperature. Dean doubly hoped that wouldn't happen - not that it wouldn't be fantastic blackmail material - and now Dean pushed himself to recall exactly where had he left his phone in the room so he'd be able to snap a shot of it if it  _did_  happen when he woke up in the morning - but more just that he hoped Sam's temperature would remain at a healthy range.

Dean turned over onto his back and made useless wishes to all these ends as he stared at the ancient TV screen's afterglow dimming out. With a decisive huff he closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review/kudos if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	43. Sleep Zone-Out

When Sam was two weeks old, he fell asleep in Dean's arms for the first time. Mary placed him gently in the four year old's arms, handed him the bottle, and softly, patiently, guided the eldest brother. When Sammy started drinking Dean could barely contain his excitement. He begged his already-attentive mother to 'look it' over and over again and as soon as she assured him she was well aware he fell silent, grinning as he watched Sammy stare up at him with wide open, clear and bright gray eyes with small specks of hazel coming through. The end of the formula and Dean was riveted as the baby drifted to sleep, eyes closing slowly and pulling away from the bottle to turn his head closer against his brother.

When Sam was about three or four months, Mary would nap and Dean would sneak out of bed and into Sam's crib. He "read" the memorized stories out loud and put himself to sleep next to the baby. Mary would wake up to her angels both dreaming next to each other and go do the laundry, checking in every once in awhile until they both would wake.

When Sam was around five months, Dean started slipping Sam soft foods: a spaghetti noodle hanging out of Sammy's mouth here, some scrambled eggs smeared on his cheek there, and soon the baby was bouncing on his high-chair eyeing Dean's food instead of his own. Mary relented and started switching Sam from formula to juice and soft baby foods. Nap time after that consisted of Dean crawling into Sam's crib, reading to his little brother while finishing off whatever juice Sam had left over in his bottle.

At six months, Mary was gone. John handled arrangements, accepted condolences, and investigated the fire. Family friends and neighbors took care of the kids, supplied them with brand new pajamas and toys. Dean was quiet - refused to speak - but he stayed by Sam's side through all of it, diligently watching to make sure his brother wouldn't disappear too.

At seven months old, Sam was big enough and Dean was careful enough for John to allow them to sleep in the same bed. He also didn't want to carry around the portable crib now that they'd begun to travel.

The habit went without saying for years until it was so ingrained they'd developed preferred positions. Most of the time they simply slept side-by-side, Dean on his stomach and Sam on his back. Nightmares and Sam would typically squeeze himself in between Dean's shoulder and the mattress until it'd get Dean to reach the lowest level of consciousness, turn on his side and let Sam move in as the little spoon. Dean had actually preferred that position sometimes - he used to imagine the shoddy motel ceilings caving in on their bed, Sammy safe and protected under him.

There was one position that annoyed Dean more than any other though and that was when he'd wake up to find his little brother practically on top of him, skinny legs and arms sprawled across his waist and shoulders like a weak, scrawny little octopus. Sam was good about it though - scrambling off and away the minute Dean would wake up and grumble "Sam what the hell." Dean would never admit it to anyone but he was pretty sure Sam only did it if Dean was having nightmares. Extra points for the eldest's denial because he never really remembered his nightmares and so he had always claimed he never had them.

After so many years, both of them felt slightly jarred when Dean started taking John's bed when it was free when he was thirteen - the same time John told Dean he was old enough to ride shotgun in the Impala. At nine, Sam didn't like either development so it was a slow transition: Dean still slept with Sam when their dad had his bed and every once in awhile Dean could be flattered and begged to sit in the backseat with his little brother.

About three years later and Sam finally understood why Dean had split off from him at thirteen. Sam took it to the next level too - creating far more distance between them than Dean had ever established. He was so clearly striving for control, independence, and getting out from under his brother's shadow. Dean didn't mind really, his focus and priorities shifting in other directions as well.

There were still moments throughout Sam's adolescence though. They mostly took place in hospital rooms after a worst-case scenario had come to pass for one of them during a hunt. John was a good man and father but guilt followed him like a single storming cloud overhead. If either of his sons volunteered to take point for the other in the aftermath of a hunt, he'd allow it and disappear and his sons would slip right back into it, the familiarity of being close and safe and taken care of so much stronger with each other than even their father.

After that, it was only Jessica. Ruby sure as hell didn't stick around to sleep next to him. Jessica was the only other person after age eighteen for Sam that slept with him because she loved him... because she just wanted to be close to him.

So maybe it made sense that something registered profoundly wrong in the deepest most recessed edges of consciousness when Sam reached out in sleep and felt an unfamiliar presence - narrow shoulders, longer, thin straight hair that couldn't possibly be Dean's...

Maybe it made sense that he'd gasp and jerk awake on a mental flip switch, falling off the bed but landing so quietly still and backing away.

Made sense he'd pass the duffel of weapons and deftly pull out a single throwing knife before backing into a corner of the room.

It'd make sense that no one knew until Kevin had to go to the bathroom around three AM - two hours later.

* * *

The dream was a good one. A little bizarre as all dreams are - the place was a bar before the realization he'd been in a coffeehouse all along hit him - it was off-putting but he adapted, scoped the place out, and aimed for the best-looking company he could find in an Asian brunette sitting at a table looking at her phone.

"This table for two?" Dean asked charmingly, slowly pulling the chair opposite her out so he could sit down once she'd given him the green light. She looked up at him with those beautiful almond eyes... with a surprisingly concerned expression.

"Dean... Dean!"

"What?" he asked harshly, not knowing exactly what was pissing him off.

"Dean! It's Sam!" She said, her voice now distinctly Kevin's. Dean let go of the chair and jerked away from her, landing on his side in his bed in the dark motel room, Kevin's voice directly overhead. He felt a hand on his shoulder and immediately went for his knife under the pillow.

"Dean something's wrong with Sam!" Kevin's hushed whisper did nothing to mitigate the fear in the kid's voice. Dean grunted, let go of the knife as quickly as he'd gone for it, and quick as lightning rolled over to the other side of the bed to slip out. Smooth and fast, he turned the bedside lamp on and stood up to blink over the bed Sam was supposed to be in, ready to assess the situation. He faltered when he found the bed empty, dumbstruck by sleepy surprise.

"Where's he?" Dean slurred, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "Sam?" He rasped, glancing around the room foggily.

Kevin came around to Dean's side just as he was turning to make a beeline to the bathroom since it was the only other place Sam could be. Kevin grabbed his wrist, startling the eldest into looking at him, and pointed.

"He's there, Dean."

"What the hell-?" Dean murmured, starting over towards the corner where Sam was huddled on the floor. He moved in and sat down on the dirty carpet facing his brother.

"I... I woke up to go to the bathroom and Sam was just sitting here. I don't know when he got up or anything. He won't answer me - he's not responding to anything when I asked him to go back to bed..." Kevin explained rapidly as he sat down at the foot of the bed behind Dean.

"-okay - okay, Kevin, I got it," Dean replied quietly as he leaned in, trying to get a good look at his brother. "Sammy?"

Sam didn't respond. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, head bowed down, vaguely rocking back and forth. No apparent injuries but Dean couldn't be too sure.

"Hit the lights, will you?" Dean asked, his voice still scratchy as he nudged up closer to Sam. He heard Kevin get up behind him and he scooted forward, placing his palm lightly against the back of Sam's head, then down to wrap a warm hand around the back of Sam's neck.

"Sammy? You hurt?" He whispered, starting to pat Sam's unkempt sleep-head hair down a little. Sam trembled at his brother's touches so Dean moved down with his hand, pressing against Sam's shoulder with what he hoped was a steady, stabilizing pressure. "Hey Sammy it's just me," he murmured, "just relax."

Kevin came back, the room now washed out in rather sickly yellow lighting. Dean could see Sam looked pale and drawn; his eyes glazed and distant. Dean grimaced with sympathy and concern and bit his lip for a second.

"Okay Sammy let me get a look at you, okay?" He whispered as he moved his hands around Sam's body, pressing and releasing secure pressure and warmth around the kid's frame - shoulders, upper arms, waist, legs. Sam still wasn't responding but he stopped shivering as much as Dean continued to whisper assurances as he moved his hands. He hoped was enough to help Sam understand his presence - maybe even feel safer as a result.

"Is he gonna be okay? Have you seen this before?" Kevin asked from behind and Dean shushed him lightly.

"I'm right here, buddy, c'mon, just need you to relax... just breathe and let me..." Dean trailed off as he gingerly placed one forearm on Sam's knees and the other under the kid's ankles. Slowly, gently, delicately, Dean began unfolding his brother so he could get a look at the kid's torso to make sure nothing was wrong - that Sam wasn't fazed out with trauma due to injury.

When Sam realized the gesture; that his legs were starting to extend under his brother's guidance, he jerked and whimpered and Dean let go immediately, moving back up to Sam's chest and holding his brother still under his arms.

"Hey no, it's okay Sammy, it's all right," he said softly, letting Sam relax back with him again. "It's gonna be okay I'm just checking to make sure you're not hurt, Sam, okay? Little brother? Got it?" he added, a hint of playfulness in his voice now since he'd started to push Sam's knees over so the kid would twist and Dean could get a good look at his chest and stomach. Sam had no idea, staring at the walls unseeing, letting Dean maneuver him as long as Dean was calm and close. Dean pressed a hand against Sam's chest and lower against his stomach to double-check - Sam would jerk in pain if Dean touched an injury. A moment of silence passed, Dean watching his brother as he touched, Sam unresponsive as ever, and Kevin watching solicitously from the foot of the bed.

Finally, Dean let out a sigh of relief.

"He's not hurt," Dean ruled evenly, pulling his focus away from Sam's body and face.

"What's wrong then?" Kevin asked quietly. Dean ticked his head to the side as his gaze landed on Sam's hand.

"Whoa," he murmured, taking a closer look.

"What is it?"

"Don't talk for a sec, Kev," Dean ordered, his tone now more wary than it'd been before. He moved up closer and rubbed Sam's forearm a few times.

"Sammy, it's okay - it's just me, s'just me," he whispered, slowly moving down to Sam's hand, "it's okay, let it go. Let go, Sammy," Dean coaxed until Sam's grip loosened. There were a couple moments of hushed silence, Kevin watching Dean maneuvering his fingers around whatever Sam had in his hand.

When Dean finally got a good hold on it he suddenly ripped it away and threw it behind him on the floor without even looking, catching his brother fast as Sam let out a discordant hum of distress and weakly moved to go after it.

"Sam! Sam it's okay!" Dean said forcefully, drowning out Sam's garbled wheezes and whimpers as he intercepted him and laced an arm across his torso and around to his back, pulling him into him. "C'mon Sammy, c'mon, relax, it's okay."

Sam started shaking more against his brother, giving small spastic attempts to get free without lashing out and Dean was painfully reminded of that time he and Sam were kids and found a young fox twisted up in a soccer ball net behind Sam's school. The thing was trembling and obviously terrified but as Dean worked with the netting it stayed surprisingly docile... only occasionally jerking around when it thought it could get free...

"Sam, it's okay, you're okay, you're safe," Dean promised, gripping Sam tighter to stop him from jerking away.

"Shhh, Sammy stop fighting me, come on, you're safe with me now... Stop Sammy," Dean whispered. He pushed Sam's head down against his shoulder and took his pulse. It was somewhat needless; now with Sam pressed against him Dean could tell Sam's breathing was reaching hyperventilation anyway.

"Dean?" Kevin whispered from behind them. He was holding the knife, having picked it up while Dean was tending to Sam, confused and worried. "Dean what's going on?"

"His pulse is too fast. He's gotta relax or something-" Dean said, interrupting himself with a grunt as he twisted them around without loosening his grip on Sam. Sam whined softly in his brother's arms and Dean resumed his whispering reassurances as he leaned against the wall, rubbing Sam's hair and back soothingly.

"You're safe. You're safe, Sammy, c'mon... Snap out of it," Dean added, cocking his head to the side to look at his brother. "Look at me, Sam. C'mon look at me, kiddo," he whispered, staring into Sam's bright eyes. The specks of hazel from when Sam had been a baby colored his irises more around the pupil as he'd grown up, creating a fascinating palette of colors from the edge of the iris inward: blue, gray, gold, brown in a spectrum... and nowhere in them could Dean see his brother registering reality.

After a few beats of Sam's brilliant, open, unaware eyes, Dean sighed and shook his head before pulling Sam's chest against his own again. Over Sam's shoulder he looked to Kevin.

"I don't know," he said, wincing, as he rubbed Sam's back as calmly as he could. "S'like... in a trance or something..." Dean trailed off, looking back down at his rag doll of a brother. "Put the knife in the weapons duffel, will you?" Dean murmured. Kevin bit his lip watching them but did as he was told.

"Is there anything I can do?" Kevin asked, moving softly back to the brothers. Dean shook his head slowly and Kevin unconsciously nodded in acknowledgment. He sat down at the foot of the bed again, not sure what he was waiting for but knowing he definitely wouldn't be able to go to bed with Sam and Dean on the floor like this. For a few minutes Dean just kept silent, rocking his brother back and forth, demanding nothing of his little brother but to stay and rest in his arms. Even Kevin found himself getting lulled to sleep.

He was snapped out of it by Dean's whisper to turn the lights off.

"What?" Kevin asked, needing clarification, hoping Dean wasn't planning to just pass out on the floor with Sam.

"Turn the lights off, Kev," Dean repeated.

"What're you-"

"He's breathing better," he murmured, shifting around on the floor, manhandling Sam around to sit him up straighter. "I'm gonna try to get him back to bed," he added as Kevin got up to walk around the room, turning the lights off save the night stand lamp.

"I'm gonna... I'll go back to my room," Kevin offered uncertainly, watching as Dean got up into a crouch, holding Sam's limp form up under the arms.

"Don't yet - I might need your help," Dean said quietly just before directing his attention all the way back to Sam. He bowed and tilted his head to see if he could get in Sam's line of sight. "Okay Sammy we're gonna get up. Can you get up for me? I'm gonna pull you up and you're gonna have to carry your own weight for two seconds, you got that?"

Sam didn't respond, just wavered under his brother's hold until Dean felt some tension in Sam's muscles.

"Good job! Good job, Sammy," Dean whispered, heartened. Dean started lifting Sam up carefully, watching as the kid's body just went with him, seemingly of its own accord. Kevin wrung his hands, stressed by the display but as Sam finally stood, hunched over and against Dean, the eldest actually smiled.

"'Atta boy. Good Sam, you're doing so good..." Dean murmured as he started shuffling Sam towards his bed.

"Is he... sleep walking?" Kevin whispered to Dean.

"I don't even know," Dean breathed as he walked Sam with the slow step rhythm they'd fallen into.

"What bed-?" Kevin started asking as Dean bypassed the bed Kevin and Sam had been sleeping in.

"You should stay here Kev," Dean said, ignoring Kevin's question, "if it wasn't for you tonight..." Dean trailed off, angling Sam into the aisle between both queens. Kevin hung back, watching, but understood. If he hadn't gotten up in the middle of the night to find Sam, he very well may have stayed there in the corner until dawn.

"Anyway," Dean coughed, getting an arm free to pull the covers back on his own bed, "Sam's gonna come back to sleep with me, right Sammy?" He joked, though the exhausted, shaky rasp in his tone betrayed him.

Kevin moved around to sit down on his bed and watched as Dean patted Sam's cheek and trailed his hand down to his shoulder and pushed. "Down, Sam, sit down, c'mon," he coaxed and Sam sat down, still dull and unseeing - just unconsciously following Dean's direction.

Dean sighed and washed a hand down his face before pushing Sam down onto his pillow. He lifted his legs up and covered him with blankets.

"D'you want, um..." Kevin trailed off and Dean turned to look at him. Kevin had pulled the patchwork blanket off their bed and was holding it out to Dean. Dean swallowed and smiled weakly as he nodded and took it.

"Thanks," he whispered and spread it out over the bed. Sam remained still and quiet as the blanket fell over him.

"Go back to sleep, Kev," Dean said tiredly before turning off the nightstand lamp. He heard the sheets rustling - Kevin getting under the covers - as he walked around to get in on his side of the bed closest to the door.

Dean sighed loudly, trying to reduce his own stress, as he pulled the covers over him. Sam hadn't moved in the bed at all and after a second Dean reached out and took Sam's hand to hold. He wasn't letting something like this happen again; if Sam was going to move, he'd know now with Sam's hand in his.

"Dean?" Kevin whispered in the dark.

"Yeah?"

"D'you know what's going on?"

Dean unconsciously grasped Sam's hand tighter.

"No," he admitted. "I'm hoping a good night's sleep and it'll blow over," Dean added tonelessly.

"But-"

"-Don't."

Kevin fell silent.

Dean pulled Sam's hand to his chest, sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to go to sleep.

* * *

Sam woke up the next morning, dawn light streaming in through the ugly brown and maroon chevron curtains, birds chirping outside, the sound of cars and trucks rushing past the motel from having just gotten on or off the highway. He was comfortable; warm, felt safe and... no pain. Nothing hurt, Sam realized with a jolt. He was actually going to be ready to get going this morning. And... and he wanted coffee.

Already smiling, Sam blinked his eyes open and found himself staring at the bed he thought he'd fallen asleep in - with only Kevin sprawled across. His expression fell to confusion and he glanced down to discover he was wrapped around the scrunched-up ball of the Universe blanket - the one he  _knew_  he'd spread out on the other bed. Jarred and alert now, he swiveled slightly and finally figured out he was warm because Dean was lying next to him a little farther up on the bed, the side of his body lined up with Sam's back.

Something touched his head and Sam jerked.

"Dean?" he rasped, realizing it was Dean's hand that'd fallen against his hair, "what the fuck-?"

"Wha?" Dean asked, still practically unconscious.

"Dean what the hell am I doing here... What happened?" Sam asked, his voice scratchy but no less clear that he needed answers  _now._

Dean sighed and blinked his eyes open to find his little brother staring down at him, his eyes wide and alive and worried.

Dean grinned, closed his eyes and folded his arms.

"Y'don' 'member?" he garbled.

"No," Sam replied emphatically.

"Then don' worry about it," Dean said, smirking.

"Dean," Sam prompted, getting angry. Dean chuckled and Sam's eyes lit brighter with frustration.

"You just sleep-walked, Sammy. Relax."

Sam made a face and looked at the bed Kevin was in, then down at the Universe blanket, embarrassment starting to seep in.

"I... sleep-walked to your bed with the blanket?" Sam whispered, slightly horrified at how juvenile the concept was. Dean snorted with laughter.

"Dean!"

"Not exactly..." Dean replied and paused, playing the leverage he had on Sam's mortified curiosity. Nothing else came from Sam after a few seconds though and Dean suspected Little Brother was going into brooding mode: not acceptable. Dean opened his eyes and cocked his head on the pillow, looking up at his brother who, as predicted, was looking down at nothing, trying to figure out the grim repercussions of this new symptom and his memory loss of the night before. "Sammy, s'all right. Y'didn't freak me out."

Sam looked back at his brother with a heavy expression, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed in thought and anxiety.

"Seriously, Sam. Don't worry about it," Dean repeated, keeping eye contact with Sam for longer to drive his point home.

After a few seconds Sam blew out a breath and Dean turned to look at the clock. "Five-thirty in the morning?" Dean asked lowly, then looked back to Sam. "Really?"

Sam shrugged. Dean rolled his eyes before closing them and turned on his side away from Sam.

"You got more sleep than we did, dude. Lie down for another hour or something," he grumbled. Sam twitched a smile and looked down.

"No, you sleep. I feel okay," Sam said. After a beat of silence he ventured on, "I... I want to take a shower and get coffee going," Sam said, quieter this time, self-conscious, and hoping Dean would just say "cool" and leave him to it.

Dean didn't, though. He rolled back around to look at him.

"Really?" he asked, wary but hopeful. Sam gave a genuine, if not tentative, smile.  _Please trust I can do this when I say I can_ , Sam thought.

"Well..." Dean looked his brother up and down, considering. Sam actually did look good; refreshed, even. "Okay," Dean said simply, and Sam glowed, smiling wider, for having gotten the permission he'd wanted. "Just, y'know, be careful," Dean added and Sam nodded openly.

"'Course."

"And call if you need anything."

"Okay."

Dean licked his lips and smiled.

"Okay Sammy," Dean repeated calmly. It was Sam's cue to get up and get started.

Sam stood up and Dean rolled back over to face the door of the motel.

"Make the coffee strong, Sammy," Dean mumbled, just as always, and just as always, Sam made it weak just to mess with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time!


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